Thirty-One Days Hath Even More Torments For Spike
by Manchester
Summary: To misquote T.S. Eliot, 'August is the cruellest month…' as a certain vampire will painfully learn throughout his unlife. Rating is for Spike's language only.
1. August 1, 1983

Summary: Contrary to the opening theme song, one person having a drink at Cheers isn't the same as the other people in there. And, no, we're not talking about Spike the vampire.

* * *

Sipping at his over-chilled American beer having within it all the strength of weak horsepiss, Spike idly checked out the crowd in the Boston below-ground bar for his next victim tonight. Even with having to order a pint which was nothing less than an actual insult to genuine English-style ales, it wasn't a bad little pub. For one thing, there weren't any mirrors in the whole bloody place.

Why this should be so, Spike had absolutely no idea, but he appreciated it a good deal nevertheless. It meant nobody would notice the man seated alone at his table in the far corner of the room wasn't casting a reflection. Normally, the kinds of rough drinking holes where Spike preferred to do his boozing were demon bars, whose unearthly customers were more than happy to avoid mirrors. This didn't apply to the usual human saloons, in which Spike had to hope his fellow imbibers were so soused they never even realized through their serious alcoholic haze that the bloke next to them couldn't been seen in any mirror around. Either this, or a fight promptly broke out with accompanying sounds of shattering glass when Spike pegged his empty tumbler directly at the usual full mirror attached to the pub's back wall.

In the middle of deciding between white and black for dinner, Spike choked on his beer at suddenly hearing with his heightened senses a question from across the room: "And another stupid thing about horror films, why is it anyone can use holy water against vampires? Shouldn't this only work for Catholics?"

Peering with alarmed suspicion from his corner table at where this had come from, the far end of the bar counter, Spike observed there seated next to each other some mustached bloke in a postal carrier's uniform then send a smug glance at the unimpressed chubby man at his side. Subtly relaxing at this realization he'd merely overheard a trifling bar argument, Spike still sneered to himself, *What a pillock!*

This inner derision had to do with the vampire knowing the real truth about the water blessed by Catholic priests and used in those clergymen's places of worship for baptisms and other holy rituals. The palpable effectiveness of that liquid substance against evil blood-drinking demons all had to do with the sheer power of belief in this by humans of the same church regarding the sacred fluid, not specifically by those who carried it around in a bottle or other container during a nighttime stroll as a defense for any vamp which might come along.

Why, decades ago in China during Spike's narrow victory against the Slayer living there, this undead man had been seared nearly to the bone by some of that horrible stuff she'd thrown at him in her attack. It'd worked right well, almost allowing the slant-eyed bint to win before Spike recovered and still managed to murder this superhuman girl. In any event back then, there hadn't been much chance of what's-her-name being a Catholic, or even any other kind of Christian. Far more likely, she'd belonged to whatever foreign temple of her Oriental religion, with the Slayer being given the holy water by her soddin' Watcher.

Grumpily taking another mouthful of his pathetic beer, Spike kept on listening to the exasperated argument between Mr. Big Mouth and his stout friend. That latter pudge seemed to have his head screwed on straight, what with remarking out loud about absolute trust in something being the key to faith.

Looking righteous all of a sudden, the moon-faced bloke then declared, "Listen, Cliff, I've got the perfect example right here in my hand now. You know who Ben Franklin was, right? Well, he once said, 'Beer is proof that God loves us and wants us to be happy.' So," this man cheerfully lifted up in salute his half-filled mug of golden liquid, "Bless this and all the rest of the beer here."

A couple of seconds later, the entire stunned bar was staring at the wreckage of the smashed front door leading to the street stairs. Just a moment ago, a screaming blond man clutching at his scalded throat with both hands had decisively run right through the wooden panel while leaving in his sudden big hurry.

At the end corner where their usual seats were, two best friends glanced at each other with honest bafflement over this truly odd behavior. Finally, the unknowing Pontiff of the Church of Norm just shrugged, and then he finished off his holy beer in one smooth swallow.


	2. August 2, 1953

Summary: You don't mess with the Black Rebels Motorcycle Club. Ever.

* * *

"So, you've really come here for fifty years straight?"

"Yep," affably answered the elderly man over the rumbling noises of uncounted motorcycles rolling through the main street of Sturgis, North Dakota. This town's annual motorcycle rally held every summer was in full swing, as could be seen from the view shared by the two people leaning back in their lounge chairs at the motel balcony overlooking the festivities.

A distant gaze abruptly developed upon the weathered features of the oldster wearing a black leather jacket which had clearly seen better days, just like its owner. Continuing to unseeingly stare out at the happy mob of motorcyclists from all over the country, this person with the nickname 'Mouse' embroidered on the back of his jacket mentioned with more than a touch of melancholy in his voice, "I'm the last one, though. My riding buddies, they're all gone now."

Nodding in real sympathy, Harry Childress, a travel writer in town looking for local color, ventured, "What made the Black Rebels come here in the first place? You must've known about Sturgis before, since it was already famous at the start of the fifties when the rally had been going on for, oh, fifteen years, I think."

Blinking himself back to the present, Mouse agreed, "That's right, we'd heard the stories from others who'd already been there. We probably would've visited sooner or later, but we had one hell of an extra incentive to do this back then."

Harry couldn't help but to feel intrigued, sensing the possibility of a good story he could write for his readers. He casually cleared his throat in an unspoken request.

Glancing over at his eager companion, Mouse appeared thoughtful, until he shrugged in acceptance. "Oh, why the hell not? It isn't like there's anyone left but me to get in trouble for it, and the statute of limitations for what we did probably expired years ago. Besides, I'm not even sure what happened was a crime, because nobody would've believed us, anyway. I don't think you will, either, but here goes. It all started in 1953 when Johnny Strabler and the rest of us Black Rebels rode into Wrightsville..."

Half an hour later, Mouse was still telling Harry, "...and when Johnny came back from seeing Kathie for the last time, he definitely wasn't in any mood to discuss it. He got on his ride and headed off without a word to anyone, with us following him. It was all one gang now, with the troublemakers like Chino and Gringo gone. We drove for a couple of hours until just after sunset without stopping except for gas, and then...it happened."

Pausing for emphasis, Mouse continued for his fascinated listener.

"I'm still not sure exactly where we were, and I've never been tempted to go back there. But, it was a totally empty two-lane blacktop out in the country, pitch-black with nothing around but farmland and a few clumps of trees by the road. One of these patches was coming up, and from there, _somebody_ jumped out into the middle of the road and stood there waiting for us. Of course, Johnny was in the lead, and he just barely had time to start driving around the idiot, who next moved faster than just about anyone I'd ever seen. Instead of staying out of the way, he got in front of Johnny again and tried to grab our head honcho right off his bike."

Taking a deep breath while wonderingly shaking his head, Mouse went on. "Like I just said, that bastard was quicker than most people, but Johnny was an exception. Without any dawdling, Johnny laid down his bike on its side, getting his leg free just in time and he slid it right at his attacker, all while perched on his Triumph skidding down the road."

Uttering a grim chuckle, the aged Black Rebels member further confided, "Damned if it didn't work like a charm. That guy got knocked completely off his feet, and fell flat on his back on the asphalt. Johnny wasn't hurt at all, and when his bike finished moving, he was up and on it in a flash. As for the rest of us...we rode the fucker down."

His face iron-hard, Mouse adamantly declared to a shocked Harry, "_Nobody_ messed with the Black Rebels, especially not with our sworn blood brother. Everybody on the road then lined up to flatten that guy with their bikes, one by one. I was tail-end Charlie, bumping right on top of the guy under my wheels. Once that was done, I drove about thirty feet further on to where the others had stopped and turned around. They were all in a big semi-circle, headlights shining straight at me, with Johnny in the center. I swerved into the far left-hand side, putting my ride in the same position...and then we watched the guy we'd just run over get back up on his feet without any problem at all."

Harry's mouth fell open in sheer astonishment. Noticing this, Mouse ruefully shrugged, "Yeah, that's how we felt, too. Then it went _really_ crazy. There was a good enough moon that night, and our headlights also provided plenty of light, so we could see what the guy looked like, even with all the treadmarks now covering his face. A couple decades afterwards, when I first saw publicity photos for the rock singer Billy Idol, I couldn't help thinking, 'Jesus, that's him!' Anyway, that was just the start of things. He stood there, glaring at us, until...his face changed in the most horrible ways possible. The skin, it went all ridged and also both of the guy's eyes turned glowing yellow. Worse of all were his teeth, which transformed into real-life fangs. Right after, the guy took a single threatening step towards us."

Mouse shivered. "I'm not ashamed to say I just about shit my pants then, and would've done it for sure in the next few seconds. Except, Johnny showed again he had balls bigger than anyone else in the Black Rebels. All of our bikes were running, and our leader grabbed his Triumph's throttle, and revved up the engine at full blast. That sound yanked us out of our scare, and we imitated him right away, each and every one of us also getting ready for anything more. By doing this, we'd just promised no matter what Johnny next did, we'd back him up."

A proud expression slowly formed on Mouse's aged countenance. "The..._thing_ standing there, he knew this, too and he didn't take another step. Nope, for a moment or so, there was a complete Mexican stand-off between us and him. Maybe that guy could've taken us all, but we'd damn well hurt him regardless. After one last glare, this bastard simply turned and ran out of sight into the clump of trees where he'd been before. We didn't hang around, either. All of us made a quick U-turn down the road in unison and then we left like a bat out of hell. Johnny led us the whole way to Sturgis. When we got here, he gathered the whole gang together, and totally laid down the law to us: 'Nothing fucking happened, you understand? After this, we don't ever talk about it. Not with each other, your girl, your ma and pa, your best friend, your priest, and above all, not to the cops! Anybody who still opens their big mouth anyway, they're damn well gonna wind up tossed into the nearest loony bin!'"

The biker in his early seventies sighed, and he then let a silence fall between the pair on the motel balcony for a while. Mouse eventually restarted his narrative with, "As far as I know, we always kept it a secret from anyone not in the gang. The Black Rebels also did what Johnny ordered, never mentioning it to each other. Now, I'm the last one still around, and I figure it can't hurt anyone now to finally tell the story."


	3. August 3, 1962

Summary: Spike might've had much better luck in hunting down a certain Ursus arctos if he'd only thought to bring along a pic-a-nic basket for bait..

* * *

Standing in the middle of a night-time forest, Spike savagely snarled to himself,. "Where the hell's that damn bear?"

* * *

This vampire's sour mood had started hours ago, when he'd come to the reluctant conclusion that maybe it hadn't been such a bright idea to pay a visit to the nearest national park, and then snack on the summer tourists visiting there. Even so, Spike stubbornly thought the notion still had definite possibilities. This entire unspoiled place consisting of forests, mountains, and woodland pastures was so big and undeveloped that people going camping here were usually miles away from anyone else. To be specific, well out of earshot for whomever else might be around to hear and react to cut-off bloodcurdling screams of terror in the night...

Spike smirked for a moment at this pleasant thought, until his face changed back into an actual pout. Aye, well, there just happened to be a minor flaw in his recent plan to devour every vacationer in sight. Namely that he couldn't soddin' find a single one of those nature-happy sightseers!

Prowling through the gloom tonight, Spike had spent all of his time fruitlessly searching for his normal prey. Oh, they'd indisputably been around earlier, but when the vampire came across their tent sites and log cabins, these camping places were completely deserted. What's more, there'd been clear evidence, as presented by the ripped fabric of tents and smashed-flat cabin doors, in that something just as scary as Spike had been there right before this demon showed up all ready for slaughter.

At first, Spike suspected there was another vampire at work, until a closer examination convinced the undead Englishman otherwise. For starters, there weren't any bodies. All he found were lots of footprints heading directly to local parking places, which in turn also showed the remnants of long lines of rubber left upon the ground by spinning tires. These odd markings plainly showed those walking meals had legged it at once in their cars well away from here.

One other clue had caused Spike to disbelievingly regard a very special set of paw prints left onto the forest floor. He wasn't all that familiar with American wildlife, but as a little boy in Victorian London, one of his very favorite outings had been to the city's zoo, the oldest in the world. Besides always stopping to see Jumbo the elephant, this blond tot was always fascinated by the several hairy inhabitants lolling around in their separate row of cages.

Right then and there in the national park, the vampire couldn't help but to remember just how the wide paws with their long, sharp claws had looked, attached to the thick limbs of...

"Bugger me, a bloody _bear?!_"

Tossing away the section of tent fabric he'd been examining, which had several lines of individual slashes along its entire length, Spike angrily scowled into the darkness surrounding him. This was simply too idiotic! Apparently, some rogue bear was on the loose in the neighborhood tonight, and worse of all, it was scaring away Spike's food. Well, to hell with that! It was about time this oversized Rupert Bear learned the folly of daring to think it was the most dangerous creature in the whole damn park!

Nodding in resolute agreement as to what he'd just vowed, Spike studied the ground until he found the correct set of paw prints leading away from the campground. Following these at a brisk jog, the vampire moved through the forest for several minutes. Encouraged by the numerous bear imprints he was finding, Spike eventually glanced ahead to see a flash of brown fur moving among the trees several hundred yards in front of the pursuing demon. Giving an exultant whoop of glee, Spike sprinted forwards.

The immediate crashing sounds coming from further on where the vampire had just spotted his quarry told Spike the bear had heard him, and that beastie was putting its own legs hard at work. Evilly grinning to himself, Spike continued his chase. It took longer than the vampire had expected, what with Spike being quickly led in numerous random zigzags throughout the forest.

Along with this, he soon encountered other unsafe parts of this woodland. Such as the hollow log filled with bees, which painfully demonstrated to Spike their intense displeasure at being disturbed tonight. Not to mention the deep gulch which was hidden by bushes until Spike ran through these to get away from those damn bees and promptly plummeted into the quicksand pool at the bottom.

Now thoroughly brassed off, Spike stood in his dripping clothes, one eye nearly swollen shut from a bee sting, and he glared around at the peaceful forest glade where he'd come to a halt. After snarling out loud that question of where might be located something he was _definitely_ going to turn into a furry rug for his crypt, Spike again heard ahead the sounds of a bulky body forcing its way past the thick shrubbery in its path.

Inwardly declaring this time he'd catch that bloody animal, Spike dashed onwards. A few seconds later, he burst out from the tree line into an immense patch of bare ground. Hurdling over a wooden walkway, Spike kept on running with a sadistic smile now widening his lips. _There_ it was at last!

The bear was crouched down onto all fours in the middle of the clearing, with its chin resting on the ground. It steadily stared at the vampire heading directly at this ursine. Apparently frozen in fear and exhaustion, it didn't budge, even when Spike showed every fang in his nastiest smile at the bear. A couple of steps later, the onrushing vampire thrust his legs hard against the ground to send Spike's unliving body upwards into a spectacular leap. Reaching the apex of his jump, Spike started descending face-first with arms outstretched and talons ready to tear that blasted nuisance into big, bloody chunks right after landing onto it.

However...

Whatever else Spike thought the bear might do then, such as a desperate, last-second lunge away from him on its paws, the vampire had no reason at all to expect the utterly impossible from an unintelligent animal. Much less at that exact moment, having the bear get up on its hind legs and run away with truly incredible speed!

Spike couldn't help but to be distracted in the middle of his leap while gawking at seeing something he'd never witnessed before. Unfortunately, this demon next noticed the now-escaped bear had been lying along the lip of a large circular hole in the ground while shielding this from Spike's sight, and he was about to drop right into this presumably bottomless shaft!

A frantic grab was made by Spike at the edge of the hole, only for his fingertips to miss this by a fraction of an inch while he then disappeared with a despairing scream into the inky blackness of the vertical tunnel.

About several hundred feet away from the hole, the bear still easily standing on its hind legs stopped running. It next turned around and thoughtfully gazed at where his former pursuer had just vanished inside the hole. Remaining there by what was lying on the ground, the hat and collar with an attached tie he normally wore together but which had been removed and dropped there just moments ago to avoid any developing suspicions by the monster chasing him, the bear kept on watching in utter patience, as if he were waiting for something to commence in the near future.

As for Spike, he was determinedly clutching onto a rocky spur protruding from the otherwise smooth and damp sides of the shaft, dangling there while being kept from falling only by the grip of his fingers. Giving a quick glance upwards, he estimated it was maybe a couple of yards or so up to the top, and there were some more handholds within reach. Right, as long as he was careful, there'd be no problem with climbing out.

Holding on with a vampire's inhuman strength by one hand alone, Spike stretched with the other hand for another small protrusion overhead. In the middle of this, Spike felt the rock in his clutch start to tremble. A loud rumbling also began far below his feet. Hastily peering down into absolute gloom in which not even his superb night vision could make out anything, a bewildered Spike heard the rumbling sound increasing. No, wait, it wasn't increasing, it was coming _nearer-_

With extreme satisfaction, Yogi Bear watched Jellystone Park's Old Fateful geyser shoot straight up in an immense column of boiling-hot water nearly a hundred feet tall. Bouncing up and down on the top of the erupting geyser, the tiny human figure balanced there flailed and kicked uselessly. Spike's howls of pain, which included the fervent plea to just let him get out of this and he'd leave right away and never come back, were just barely discernible over the tremendous roar of one of nature's sublime wonders.

Snickering at the evident success of protecting both his home and all those nice people with their full pic-a-nic baskets (even if he'd had to at first pretend to scare them away during this), Yogi then smugly intoned, "So, it looks like I'm now also smarter than the av-er-age vampire!"


	4. August 4, 1975

Summary: Spike unwisely visits a very remote part of the British Isles, where instead of being despised on sight as is normal for him just because he's a vampire, this blond demon is regarded as an equally loathed ffycin Saesneg.

* * *

Staggering away from the stone outbuilding where he'd been hiding in the cellar the entire previous day, Spike's countenance was fixed in a grimace of supreme revulsion, easily distinguishable even in the gloom just after sunset. Doing an appalled, convulsive, whole-body shudder while desperately trying to forget what he'd been compelled to listen for seemingly forever, Spike then picked a direction at random and speedily took to his heels. It didn't matter _how_ hungry he was at the moment. Mere starvation wasn't the worse thing which could happen to Spike if he dared to spend another bleedin' second in Llan-dlubber Island, Wales!

Even after close to a century of massacring people, it honestly beat him, what those humans could do to each other all on their own. Yes, yes, he was a vampire and all that other codswallop - i.e., a proper vicious sod out to cheerfully maim and murder and torture and do all the other good things of unlife after a demon straight from Hell had taken over the corpse of some poetry-writing mummy's boy. Still, there were lines even Spike wouldn't cross. For all his sins, the vampire had never stooped so low as to eradicate the merest possibility of anybody else ever again having the least bit of _fun._

Unlike all those local buggers in this grim, forsaken place off the coast of Wales, who each and every one of them considered any kind of enjoying life's simple pleasures to be an inexcusable transgression against God himself. Spike had an entirely different opinion concerning this, of course. So, when he'd been caught by sunrise in his wanderings, the vampire taking shelter well within earshot of the nearby church had listened with a mixture of growing disbelief and horrified sympathy for those other poor blokes from England who'd been invited here for the island's eisteddfod festival.

The rest of the day had excruciatingly passed by with agonizing slowness, with Spike forced to overhear the whole ghastly experience for Tim, Bill, and Graeme. This included their arrival here, this group's musical performance thoroughly disapproved of by the local authorities, their ensuing death sentence for daring to entertain people anyway, and finally the ludicrous rugby game. He'd eventually started feeling so sorry for this hapless trio that Spike down in his cellar nodded in genuine commiseration regarding the Goodies when the Reverend Llewellyn Llewellyn Llewellyn Llewellyn stated to them, "Enjoyment? There's no enjoyment at the eisteddfod. 'Eisteddfod' is an old Welsh word, you see, from the Old Welsh. It comes from two words: 'eistedd' meaning 'bored' and 'fod' meaning 'stiff'."

* * *

Author's Note: This crossover is based on the hilarious 'Wacky Wales' episode of _The Goodies_ television show. You can see it for yourself now on YouTube, where it's been recently added. Just don't blame me if you collapse in laughter at the first appearance of the Reverend Llewellyn Llewellyn Llewellyn Llewellyn (which is probably the _short_ version of his name). Even if he'd never played the third Doctor Who, Jon Pertwee would've achieved comedic greatness for this character alone.

In our dimension, the episode originally aired in March 1975. However, it must've actually occurred later on around the start of August in the Buffyverse due to the dour inhabitants of Llan-dlubber Island setting up their own eisteddfod in opposition to what's also regularly held then, a sinful occasion of frivolity and moral turpitude known as the National Eisteddfod of Wales.

P.S.: 'Ffycin Saesneg' means 'fucking English.'


	5. August 5, 1933

Summary: A guy, a doll, and a vampire - for some reason, the following events taking place soon after a short story first printed in 1933 were never mentioned at all in the ensuing musical and cinematic adaptations.

* * *

It is a hot New York City summer night in which the temperature is hitting the top end of the mercury like some palooka punching his best with a big lump of plaster hidden in one glove. Just yesterday, my pal The Sky and his new bride who was Miss Sarah Brown are back from their honeymoon at Niagara Falls. The Sky has to say that if any city plumber were called out to fix the leak there, this poor fella would raise high the white flag of surrender and take up some other and less damp line of work. Him and the lovely leader of the Save-A-Soul band are still living in cozy domesticity at their humble abode in Brooklyn, so The Sky asks me to take his place with the street orchestra for a few days.

I not unreasonably point out to my close acquaintance requesting this favor from me that I have far less musical talent than an aggravated cat complaining to the whole world that its tail was just run over by a street steamroller. The Sky assures me that all I have to do is to hold up the big drum, which will then be whacked rhythmically by another member of our harmonious ensemble. After I suggest double or nothing, a deck is produced and a quick draw of the cards extends my engagement in this endeavor from a mere day or two to a whole week. Sensibly deciding to quit with this little game of chance before taking up the job for life, I hie off towards the mission, whereupon I am clad in the largest available set of sartorial duds on hand there to identify me as a proper member of the band.

We soon arrive at the neon-lit environs of Broadway to begin our work of melodiously rescuing the souls of the populace there from those who would tempt them into sin. We being myself lugging along the extra-sized round percussion instrument, Charley Horseface on trombone and Matt the Hat with his cymbals who normally participate in the mission band with The Sky, and Miss Jessica carrying a tambourine in one dainty hand and a drum stick in the other hand.

Miss Jessica is the current replacement for the former Miss Sarah. Just barely taller than a piled-up stack of papers bound with string and ready for sale the morning after a slow news day, she is bright-eyed and anxious to bring the glories of the heavenly host to the multitudes. Since she is also very trim in her plain garments, the multitudes consisting of a good many representatives of the masculine persuasion one and all swiftly form up in a line to donate their spare coins or even a greenback in assorted denominations equal to the occasional sawbuck. Miss Jessica gives everyone, including those who drop nothing more than a penny upon her proffered tambourine, a most kind smile of which I am soon desirous to have bestowed into my general direction.

My first attempt to make Miss Jessica regard me with fond esteem does not go quite according to plan. When I venture to join in her dulcet tones ardently delivering to an appreciative audience the tune of 'Shall We Gather At The River?', Miss Jessica watches with some disappointment at witnessing this crowd then promptly disperse at a fast run with their hands protectively covering their ears. She expresses her thanks to me at how exuberantly I make a joyful noise unto the Lord, but I sense she may just be conveying a smidgeon of politeness about this.

My next try at the subsequent street corner occurs after the equally fervent performance by Miss Jessica of 'Bringing In The Sheaves' while banging on the drum. In the course of this, she keeps a definite chary eye on me lest I open my mouth once more in song. Always being a swift learner, I refrain from exercising my vocal cords to instead stand stock-still by the building wall, holding onto the struck drum until the hymn is over. Once the crowd finishes their loud applause and Miss Jessica goes among them to seek out more monetary donations for the mission, I place the drum down by the wall and follow along after her.

Miss Jessica afterwards thoughtfully regards the overflowing funds piled high in her tambourine. Next, she tilts her head back to stare up at where I loom over her, to then compliment me on both escorting her around the throng and also on how dedicated I am at my personal hygiene. However, my fingernails must now be scrupulously clean, so I do not need to again continuously apply my penknife to them. _Especially_ while using for this a certain something which in the opinion of possibly anyone familiar with offensive weapons more suspiciously resembles a switchblade.

At that point in time, a rather sarcastic blatting noise drifts our way from the trombone attached to the mouth of Charley Horseface, which in turn is joined to the rest of his equine features. It is agreed by all who know this individual that at irregular intervals Charley has to fend off jockeys who want to toss a bridle on him and go for a few circuits around the Aqueduct racetrack. Continuing with the zoological theme, I give Charley my best fisheye. In the course of this, an approaching flatfoot further up the street catches my notice, so I hastily propose we head over to the next avenue through the side alley where we find ourselves.

Our small group is agreeable to this, and I am soon at the rear of the line with Miss Jessica in front and the others in the middle. When we pass through a petite courtyard at the middle of the block with lanes running off in all directions from it, a back door in one of the enclosing buildings opens and a man I have never seen before comes out through this portal to next stop short right in front of this ajar exit. Standing on the threshold, he is a youngish-looking fellow with bleached hair. Right then and there, he gives us all a very happy grin which still seems to have a great deal of wicked delight lurking within his nasty smile.

The stranger beams at us halting in our tracks to stare back at him. We subsequently hear him say in an unmistakable limey accent, "Well, lucky for me you all came along! Only a moment ago, I decided to go out and find a quick bite, and then my dinner immediately shows up on my doorstep!"

Just after this very odd opening statement, the blond Englishman smirks at me, "Big and beefy, just right for the steak course."

His glance then travels to where Charley and Matt are warily eyeing him in turn. "Not to mention, a proper meal must come with all the acceptable side dishes."

Finally, that possible escaped mental patient leers directly at Miss Jessica and he tells her with exultant malice, "Best of all, my favorite dessert is served tonight!"

Without any further ado, this man walks up to Miss Jessica and in an astonishing example of discourtesy, he reaches out with one hand to arrogantly stroke his palm against her right cheek.

In less than an instant after dropping the drum I am carrying, I jump over there to where Miss Jessica is standing in her utter shock. Except, I just as quickly somehow seem have a head-on collision with a fully-loaded streetcar which has turned into the alley. Sailing through the air, I hit with my whole body the brick wall at the other side of the passageway, and slide down along it to the ground, not in the very best of health around then.

Perhaps that is why when I blearily look up with my wits whirling around like an out-of-control fairground carousel, I see how the blond man now appears to have a deformed face glaring at me, with his yellow eyes and sharp teeth all part of the hallucination. That is all I manage to perceive, since Miss Jessica now fiercely slaps her tambourine right across that uncanny kisser.

The whole alley suddenly lights up, as if some nearby photographer shot off his brightest bulb to take our picture. However, it is the tambourine which has blazed into an eye-searing level of illumination. This description of burning is not just for narrative effect, since the misshapen face of the screaming stranger is now definitely smoldering.

No one has ever accused Charley Horseface and Matt the Hat of lacking in nerve. They shoulder past Miss Jessica and set upon her accoster. Matt is the closest, so he is the first to clobber with the cymbal in his right hand the swinging fist coming his way. With a resounding _GONG!_ the cymbal also bursts into white radiance, and the stranger bellows in agony to then reel back while shaking a blistered hand.

This shift in position puts Charley with his trombone between me and his opponent, which means I do not see what actually occurs next. However, Charley standing there bends over slightly and both of his arms swing forward as if thrusting something. Yet another blast of light floods the alley, along with the most dreadful scream of them all.

I am not paying all that much attention at the moment, what with getting back up on my feet and collecting my own weapon. The others draw apart at my ponderous approach, and I halt at where the stranger is in a half-crouch while clutching at his nether regions. Just when my foe looks up while beginning to straighten in his posture, I lift high the drum held with both hands against the sides of this in a horizontal arrangement, right before ramming the drum down with all the strength I have onto that fellow's head.

There is just barely time for seeing how the double set of drum skins - top _and_ bottom - loudly split apart before my vision is completely blinded at how the drum flashes into pure dazzling whiteness. I regain my sight perhaps some seconds later, blinking away tears while being tugged along by a small guiding hand gripping my own. We burst out from the mouth of the alley with Charley and Matt at the forefront of our company. Miss Jessica is leading me at a rapid pace, and just before we turn to make our way up the street, I give one last glance over my shoulder.

Far down the alley, a glowing circular object is bouncing back and forth against the building sides. At the same time it travels further away, it is accompanied by the fading howls of distress issuing from the rapidly-departing wearer of that blessed object stuck around his waist.

Some five minutes afterwards and several blocks distant, Miss Jessica is leading the crowd in a spirited rendition of 'When The Saints Go Marching In', expertly backed up by Charley and Matt on their own musical instruments. These, along with the tambourine being vigorously shaken in a feminine hand, appear to still possess a faint, sanctified glow surrounding those objects, but that may just be a trick of the light from the Broadway illuminations. Putting aside this thought, I find I am more than capable of clapping my hands in time to the lively tune, inspired by the irresistible smile Miss Jessica sends my way at every stanza.

It occurs to me she may be most amenable to a proposition that when we return to the mission later tonight, it would then be possible for us to share together a hot fudge sundae at a nearby soda fountain I know and frequent.


	6. August 6, 1955

Summary: On a scorching night in New York City during the 1950's, Spike witnesses a classic movie moment.

* * *

Of all the wilting pedestrians listlessly making their way along both sides of Lexington Avenue tonight, only one person there wasn't sweating. Nope, not a single drop, unlike everybody else in the vicinity which were nearly drowning in their perspiration. Even several hours after sunset, a heat wave broiling the entire New York City metropolis for the last few days was still keeping the local temperatures dangerously high. While they mopped their brows, gulped down icy drinks, and prayed for a break in the hot weather, a great many annoyed looks were sent by the other people there on the sidewalks towards a certain man strolling down the avenue, who effortlessly looked as cool as a cucumber.

Spike, on the other hand, was having his own problems. The overwhelming scents of a whole city baking in the middle of summer were driving the vampire to distraction. He was seriously considering leaving town just to get away from the smell of millions of sweaty humans all too discernible by his sensitive nose. Bitterly mulling over the occasional disadvantages of possessing an apex predator's heightened senses, Spike glanced ahead, to where the restless crowd a half-dozen blocks beyond had produced an open space along this stretch of the concrete pavement.

Right now, there were only two people on the sidewalk at that spot, both easily discernible to Spike's keen vision, and one of them had come to a halt while looking down-

In the very next second, Spike also stopped dead in his tracks to gape with wide-eyed astonishment at what he was watching. Standing motionless there among the other passers-by, the vampire was regarded with irritation by those forced to walk around the blond man ignoring them to fixedly stare at something so far away which the rest of the onlookers had no hope of noticing.

An unnerving expression of bloodthirsty lust suddenly appeared on Spike's face. Without the slightest hesitation, he stepped off the sidewalk and into the street to begin crossing this roadway. All of his attention was totally focused at what was still going on ahead. Regrettably, this carelessness was also why the vampire making the instant decision to select as his next victim the specific person he'd just observed now ill-advisedly strode right in front of a speeding taxi.

* * *

Feeling numerous broken bones magically repair themselves while the agonizing pain in his head soon faded away, Spike opened his eyes to the sounds of a nearby blaring siren. He looked up at a car's ceiling. Confusedly experiencing the familiar sensations of riding in a speeding automobile, the undead Englishman next got an unexpected friendly pat on his shoulder. Quickly glancing over at where some unknown bloke in a white uniform was seated next to him, Spike heard from this stranger shouting over the siren, "Don't worry, fella, we're almost at the hospital! You just rest, and we'll take good care-"

Rising up in absolute fury from his stretcher which he'd been lying upon, Spike bellowed at the startled ambulance attendant, "Like hell I will! Stop this damn thing and let me off!"

Discreetly reaching for a hypodermic syringe loaded with enough sedatives to put down an elephant, the attendant soothingly responded, "Now, take it easy, mac. The accident you were in a couple minutes ago banged you up pretty good- _AHHHHHHH!_"

This scream was due to the medical assistant's latest patient impossibly changing his features in a split second into a monstrous aspect consisting of ridged skin, glowing eyes, and fangs. Both the man's scream and his life ended when Spike tore out with clawed hands this unfortunate individual's throat.

* * *

Skidding to a stop by the exact point where he'd last seen _her,_ Spike frantically looked around at his location. Unfortunately, he had no luck in his thorough search for someone who'd presumably departed while the vampire had been quite busy elsewhere after his recent traffic accident. He'd been forced to also kill the ambulance driver when the abrupt shriek of mortal terror from the back had caused that human to shortly stop their car in the middle of the street. Following this had been the tiresome necessity of wiping off all the blood splattered on the vampire from both corpses, and then running away from the crime scene. Next had been an equally infuriating delay in making his way back to Lexington Avenue solely on foot. To Spike's growing dismay, it appeared as an upshot of all those hindrances, the most sensual woman he'd ever seen was now long gone from here-

*Wait a bloody second!*

Spike lifted his head to sniff at the air, while his mood brightened a bit at what he'd just realized. There was a very good possibility that the heavy mugginess blanketing the city and making everyone else around miserable from this sticky humidity had additionally preserved the scent of his quarry overlaying this area.

Which in turn meant that if Spike got a single whiff of her, he could track down that lady in white no matter where she'd set off. Afterwards, oh, yessssss... He'd take his _time._ Every forthcoming second of the wonderful atrocity would be truly treasured.

Savoring every evil thought of torture and rapine, Spike vigorously inhaled through his nose while striding back and forth across the sidewalk. He discounted the incredulous looks of the few people still around to see him at this, to instead continue his efforts with a single-minded intensity...only to unreservedly fail at this in equal measure.

Standing atop a sidewalk grating, Spike was in a complete loss. There wasn't the slightest breeze around which might've blown away the scent, so why the devil couldn't he smell her in the stagnant air?

While contemplating this, Spike ignored the approaching subterranean rumble, which signaled a New York underground train was taking its regular route beneath the city streets. It wasn't until the steel grating started to tremble under Spike's feet, along with yet another tangible consequence of that means of transportation running past on its rails below, did the vampire finally comprehended tonight's entire debacle.

Uttering an immense groan of pure frustration at missing a dearly-yearned opportunity to slaughter the sexiest woman he'd ever chanced upon, Spike then glumly felt the powerful blast of air forced upwards through the subway grating pluck at his clothing.

Just like that same gust of wind from underneath had earlier blown high the dress skirt of Spike's prey, displaying smooth, milky-white legs and skintight panties. Not to mention dispersing every trace of that blonde woman's delightful aroma, down to the last molecule.

* * *

Author's Note: Yes, that was Marilyn Monroe as The Girl from _The Seven Year Itch_ which Spike saw in her iconic scene with the white dress and the passing subway train.


	7. August 7, 1985

Summary: Only Spike could have his arse thoroughly walloped by someone's total figment of their imagination.

* * *

The four-year-old girl with a fifth birthday coming up next month danced in the moonlight, twirling and hopping and skipping with total delight in her nightdress. It'd been a rare warm week of constant balminess for a climate better known for its damp and drizzle. As a result, the garden where a tiny blonde was blissfully gamboling tonight had the grass underfoot dry and temperate when Luna Lovegood wriggled her bare toes in this normally moist lawn.

After going to bed earlier, Luna had eventually woken up to sense it was well into the late hours of darkness. Not that it was presently very dim outside, what with the moon shining brightly enough in the clear skies above to give Luna a well-defined shadow for a playmate. The little girl had spent a happy while chasing her uncatchable silhouette around the garden after first leaping out of bed and next slipping through the back door of the Lovegood family's magical house as quietly as possible.

Mummy and Daddy were sleeping so soundly in their own bedroom that they should be left to this and not disturbed, Luna virtuously thought to herself then. This was why she hadn't told them beforehand going outside, after standing on tiptoes to grasp and pull down the door-latch and then closing very carefully the door behind her.

Eyes sparkling after coming to the end of her happy dance, Luna looked around the garden for some more fun things to do tonight. The girl's gaze fell upon the gate for the path leading to the road by the house. Luna had been strictly instructed not to use this unless one of her parents accompanied the small child, but again, they were fast asleep and so couldn't be asked for their consent to leave by the opened barrier. This meant since Daddy and Mummy didn't tell her "No," she obviously had actual permission to explore!

Beaming at what she'd worked out just like a big girl, Luna skipped over to the gate, pushed it open, and walked along the path. During this, she ignored the familiar tingle of passing through the muggle-repelling wards of the magical house named the Rookery.

* * *

Spike the vampire grumpily wondered how much further it was to civilization. At the very moment, his exasperated definition of this entailed an actual pub and a lot more folks around than the couple in their camper a few miles away he'd devoured earlier tonight. Well, this rural road he was walking on had to eventually lead _somewhere_ with a bloody telephone! Just let him make a quick call, and the whole idiotic situation of him being lost in the isolated depths of the English countryside would be over and done-

"Hullo!"

Taken completely by surprise, Spike whirled around to gape at who'd just spoken to him from behind. Hardly believing his eyes, Spike stared with disbelief at the kiddy in her nightdress just a couple of yards away. Glancing around with growing perplexity, the vampire didn't find any answers to the several questions which had just occurred to him. Such as, where the hell had that nipper come from? There weren't any cars in sight on the road, or any houses in the surrounding fields and woodlots by this deserted lane.

Plus, wherever she'd popped up from, why hadn't Spike heard her before this? His enhanced ears were now filled with the sounds of her breathing and heartbeat, but there'd been no indication at all of that little girl's presence right up to the moment she'd greeted him. It was like she'd appeared out of thin air!

Deciding prudence was called for at the nonce, Spike warily replied, "Er, hullo, love. Where's your parents?"

"Home," was matter-of-factly delivered by the kiddy. She then went on to declare much more indignantly, "And I'm not a love, I'm a lovegood!"

"Oh," blankly responded Spike, not quite sure how to deal with this last statement made by that child. On the other hand, she seemed to be out here completely on her own. Maybe she'd wandered off from her house or a campsite, like the one where Spike had carried out his latest slaughter? Pausing at this thought, the vampire took another, much slower and careful gaze around at the vicinity. He also listened as hard as he could manage, throughout all the normal nighttime sounds. Eventually finishing in this search with his heightened senses, Spike failed to find any signs whatsoever of other people around.

Besides him, of course.

And the wee lass.

Who looked _extremely_ tasty.

Putting his friendliest smile upon his countenance, Spike squatted down, held out his arms, and jovially called, "Well, lovegood, let's have a look at you, then! Come here, why don't you?"

Without the least bit of hesitation, the little girl skipped right over and jumped into Spike's cuddle. Straightening up with this child in his arms, the vampire and the young human studied each other at very close range. It was the latter of the pair who spoke first while attentively examining Spike's hair, "We've both got yellow hair! But mine's prettier!'

At those final words, the girl grasped a strand of her pale blond locks with one hand and lifted this up to shake it into Spike's amused features. Now genuinely beginning to enjoy himself, the undead Englishman chuckled in evil glee, "So I see. Now, let me show you something I think you'll find really amazing."

Imperceptibly increasing his clutch of that kiddy so there'd be no chance of her getting away when she screamed for help at what was going to happen, Spike's face suddenly shifted into his horrendous vampire manifestation.

Her rosebud mouth falling open in surprise, the little girl then stayed motionless in Spike's arms - until she reached out with her own hands and started gently stroking the demon's ridged features with her soft fingers, all while burbling with actual delight, "Oooooo! Does it hurt, doing that?"

Now it was time for Spike's own jaw to drop in sheer amazement at this extremely odd reaction. A second later, he felt that kiddy tapping a finger against one of his exposed fangs! Jerking his head back in abrupt disconcertion, Spike incredulously studied with his glowing yellow eyes the girl he was still holding, only to have her look back with equal interest upon her innocent face.

Feeling the things had gone seriously off-kilter in the last few seconds and should be properly returned to their original outcome, Spike squared his shoulders. Right, enough with the getting-to-know-you stuff. It was the moment to once more be a vicious demon sod, so let's be about it and bite off her whole head at one go, eh?

With a purposeful glint in his lambent eyes, Spike started to open his jaws wider. Except, both of the persons there in the country road now heard a loud _Whumf!_ coming from close by and much lower down.

Their heads snapping around in perfect synchrony, Spike and Luna gazed in shared astonishment at what had made this unexpected noise. Who was itself beadily looking back at them from its position standing on all four legs in the exact middle of the lane.

So far, it'd been a fairly peculiar night for Spike, and it had now just gotten even stranger. He wasn't all that knowledgeable about what went on in farming country, but surely they didn't have _purple_ sheep roaming around there!

It was a bloody big one, too, nearly the size of a pony, and with a thick, heavy fleece colored a medium-dark plum. On opposite sides of its head were greyish horns the thickness of Spike's biceps at their base and ending in needle tips at the ends of these narrowing bone projections curled nearly into a complete circle. Just when the vampire noticed this, he watched with disbelieving eyes while the round horns began slowly straightening themselves, with muffled crinkling sounds during all this. It finished with the horns pointing out horizontally over the ground - and aimed right in Spike's direction.

At that moment, the kiddy announced at the top of her lungs straight into Spike's ear, "MINE!" while reaching out with both hands towards the sheep. Before the vampire could recover to ask if she'd really meant that, that girl now looked over her shoulder at behind Spike, and she repeated herself with matching volume, "MINE!"

That last shout nearly drowned out this second _Whumf!_ coming far too near at rearwards of him for Spike's liking. Beginning to hastily turn around, Spike got only halfway in this before managing to flinch away. This meant that instead of having both straight horns stabbing him in the left leg from the other lunging purple sheep also recently appearing from out of nowhere, Spike escaped with nothing more than a nasty slash running along the far side of that leg from one goring horn.

"_Yaaaahhhh!_"

That pained howl from Spike was accompanied by him leaping away from the sheep galloping past him. Just as reflexive for this vampire was swiftly getting rid of his burden, in order to free up his arms in preparation for tearing that soddin' sheep into lambchops. Without further ado, Spike hurled up into the air by all his demonic strength the little girl he'd been carrying.

Completely indifferent to what he'd just done, Spike instead glared at where that damn animal who'd dared to wound him had stopped, turned around, and was having another go. Galloping along the road as fast as all four hooves would take it, the sheep rushed unswervingly at Spike, head lowered to present those deadly horns. A savage snarl twisting his lips, Spike leapt forwards with equal ferocity, arms outstretched in his shallow arc that brought him diving down unstoppably upon the sheep's back.

As if it'd been nothing but intangible vapor, Spike's body passed entirely through the mauve animal. It happened all too quickly to prevent him from belly-flopping with stunning force onto the surface of the roadway, hard enough to spread yard-long cracks throughout the upper asphalt at the point of impact. The immense _THUD!_ of the vampire's landing overwhelmed the _Whumf!_ of the sheep utterly vanishing from sight.

A few seconds ago, while all the above had been ongoing, the first purple sheep lifted his head to watch how Luna was now reaching the apex of her twenty-foot toss upwards (and whooping with absolute elation throughout it all). Another turn of this beast's head had him looking behind at a certain spot in the road. There, with a dozen now-familiar _Whumf!_ sounds, a corresponding number of domesticated animals colored in a matching lavender shade materialized from out of thin air. They were all crowded up close to each other, forming a continuous circular pad of soft wool - right under where Luna was descending.

With a happy shriek, the little girl landed onto the springy mass of hair, and then she rebounded back up again almost as high again. After a few more bounces, a giggling Luna came to rest onto her guardians, completely unharmed by it all.

Satisfied, the first sheep looked back at where a dazed Spike was shakily lifting himself up on his hands and knees while facing away down the road. Lowering his head, that sheep's straight horns moved again. This time, they swung inwards, to form a protruding, solid, iron-hard horizontal lump of bone. Giving a meditative stroke of one hoof against the ground, the sheep then rapidly sprinted forwards with all his might, the brand-new ramming horns aimed in scrupulous accuracy at the main target for tonight.

Spike's arse.

It was a thing of beauty, that dead-on strike with massive punching power in it. Ten yards, no less, was Spike launched further down the road, screaming in agony all the while. Only when the still-pursuing sheep caught up and dove in for another attack did the moaning vampire scramble onto his feet from the ground and start running away without stopping for the next two miles, until his wooly foe ceased in both this chase and its existence.

Back at where Luna was now perched atop one of the landing crew sheep, slim legs dangling past the neck of her ride, she watched in mild interest while the other eleven animals vanished with accompanying _Whumf!_ effects. The last sheep carrying Luna then carefully walked to the garden gate hidden from muggles by the wizarding world's spells. Without her touching it, this barrier moved on its own, allowing Luna and the sheep to pass by, and it closed just as automatically after the pair.

Luna's mount went through the garden all the way to the back door of her house. Sliding off the sheep, the little girl gave this cherished manifestation of her accidental magic one last fervent hug around his neck, with soft, warm fur brushing against her cheek. As she let go to then step back, the young witch waved goodbye while this purple sheep then slowly faded from view. Sleepily yawning, Luna Lovegood returned to bed without disturbing her parents. This slumbering child spent the rest of the night contently dreaming about crumple-horned snorkacks.


	8. August 8, 1954

Summary: Spike normally gloried in brashly acting like the most evil and brutal demon imaginable in front of everyone, but there were also the infrequent occasions when this vampire felt it prudent to tone things down a bit.

* * *

Somebody was watching him.

Standing in the middle of the apartment living room, Spike puffed his cigarette alight while shaking out the match he'd just used and then tossing this into a nearby ashtray on the center table. Thoughtfully considering the glowing tip of his latest fag, the vampire slowly turned around in a half-circle.

Spike found himself looking straight out through the living room's main picture window, which totally lacked any curtains or other means of providing privacy. This made it more than easy for him to take in the nighttime view of a courtyard out there, and also the apartment complex directly across from his present location. There, about half of the building's windows were lit up by lamps but otherwise hidden behind their own curtains and blinds. The remaining rooms had complete darkness showing at random by the closed windows, indicating that the residents there had either retired for the evening or weren't at home.

Idly exhaling through his nose a steady stream of cigarette smoke, Spike knew this wasn't true for at least one shadowy spot over there. The inner feeling assuring him that he was under close observation by some hidden spectator in the other apartments hadn't gone away. In fact, his irked sense of being watched by a soddin' nosy parker was growing by the second-

"C'mere and gimme a kiss!"

*Oh, bollocks.*

Spike unwillingly moved around on his feet to once again put his back at the window, which only made the nape of his neck further prickle in wariness. It didn't improve his mood in the least, consequently causing the vampire to glower at the young woman leaning against the side of the doorway to the bedroom, a half-filled glass of brownish liquid in her right hand. Even at this distance, Spike could smell both the cheap whiskey in the glass and on her breath, helped along by the loud belch she then uttered.

Slopping out a bit of her drink in a cheerfully wobbling salute at her latest gentleman caller, the woman giggled, "You've got the coldest skin I've ever touched, doll, so come to bed and I'll warm you up!"

The blond demon glanced over his shoulder. Judging from the sightlines, just about anyone in the other apartments opposite could see everything in here. Spike brought back his annoyed gaze at the inebriated woman he'd picked up at a bar a few blocks away for tonight's snack.

A very grumpy creature of the night aware that all his recent efforts to enjoy a quick repast of blood and death had completely gone to naught then snapped, "Listen, love, didn't it ever occur to you there might be a damn Peeping Tom behind a window over there, wanking away at seeing you walk around in this dump with no privacy?"

Hiccupping slightly, the woman (whose name Spike hadn't even bothered to learn) closed one eye in boozy concentration. After a few more exasperating moments, she brightened up to next stagger out into the living room. Heading for the left-hand wall in a weaving line, this female clumsily deposited her whiskey glass onto a cabinet there.

Turning to face Spike at that moment wondering what the hell this bint was up to now, his presumed victim then loudly declared, "In that case, I'm gonna make all his dreams come true!"

Before an astonished Spike could react to this, the woman reached down with both hands, grabbed the edges of her skirt, and in one swift move, she entirely pulled off her dress over her head. Letting her garment fall to the floor, the grinning woman presently clad only in a set of cheap ladies' underwear next gleefully waved at the window to any possible concealed eyewitnesses outside now probably having a mild heart attack.

Spike mentally groused, *Wonderful, that's all I buggering needed, a sloshed exhibitionist! Enough's enough, I'm done with this!*

Flicking his cigarette to the floor, Spike briskly strode towards the front door of the apartment residence. Laying his hand on the doorknob, he heard from behind a puzzled, "Say, fella, what's the big rush? Why're you leaving?"

Pulling the door open and then exiting into the hallway corridor beyond, Spike nonchalantly bid his farewells, "Changed my mind, love. Hope you enjoy your hangover in the morning."

Smoothly shutting the door after himself in the stunned silence those last words produced, Spike was halfway down the corridor before he heard the sounds of shattering glass produced by a tumbler hurled with enraged force at the inner surface of the door, along with the farewell scream, "YOU BASTARD!"

The vampire allowed himself a wicked smirk at managing to at least thoroughly piss off someone else tonight. Spike's grin soon altered into genuine sourness over having to do it all again this evening, hunting for some human to be his dinner. Though, this time, he'd do it in decent peace and quiet, with nobody looking over his shoulder all the while!

Clattering down the apartment stairs, Spike summed up his entire incensed mood with four short growled words: "I bloody _hate_ voyeurs!"

* * *

Author's Note: The crossover is the film _Rear Window._


	9. August 9, 1961

Summary: A vampire is a vampire, most entire, most entire/And no horse can address Spike in such a tone of dislike/That is, of course, unless the horse is the famous Mister Ed at his worse.

* * *

Rubbing his chin thoughtfully while standing in the summer night outside a pleasant semi-rural house with its nearby barn, it took a while for the dead man there to search through his memories. Spike soon came to the nonplussed conclusion that among the mountain of corpses the vampire had left behind in his wake over the last couple of decades, this was the first time ever he'd set out with malice aforethought to scrag an architect.

Mind you, more than a few badly-designed structures an unliving Englishman had come across in his wanderings since being turned made him decide nothing less than death and dismemberment were deserved for the designers of those hideous buildings. The odd part was, that this time when he'd actually gone hunting tonight for one of those inept pillocks, it wasn't because of any specific offense to Spike's artistic sensibilities.

No, it all had to do with the very wrathful demon clan named the Vrells which had earlier arranged for a meeting with their chieftain and Spike, who'd then been told the entire tedious story. It seemed the Vrells had been living at their usual hidden dwellings out of sight from humans, feasting on whatever people they could discreetly catch. When the proper biological urges had overtaken the entire tribe after several years since the last time for this, they'd ventured to a distant, cherished marsh normally used solely for their breeding purposes. However, in the meantime a local shopping chain had drained this bog and then built a department store right where the clan's former spawning beds had been located. For their own incomprehensible reasons, the froggies (as Spike promptly dubbed them) soon decided the particular individual who had to pay for this ultimate insult was that retail structure's designer.

Swiftly growing fed up with the whole idiotic narration, Spike had interrupted the croaking rant by the clan's leader with an impatient, "Yes, yes, very terrible for you and all the other little hoptoads. Can we please get down to business here, mate? I take it you don't want me to find this naughty bloke and just give him a severe scolding for bulldozing your nursery? If all you had in mind was a thorough tongue-lashing for him, well, each and every one of you lot already have a first-rate example of this, so go and spit in his face-"

"MUST DIE! _Croak!_ YOU CHOSEN! _Croak! Croak!_"

Spike allowed a quite satisfied smirk to cross his lips at such a fitting acknowledgment of his reputation as the most dangerous vampire around. He leaned back in the booth at the rear of the demonic bar where Spike and a six-foot-tall web-footed, green-skinned creature were having their discussion, sipped at his glass of virgin's blood, and drawled, "Fine, then. What's in it for me?"

"_Croak!_ Thanks of clan- _URK!_"

With blinding speed, Spike had just reached over the small table set between the pair in the booth, shoved his right hand into the frog's mouth, and yanked out that amphibian's supremely elastic tongue. Holding this stretched-to-its-absolute-limits body part at his full arm's length, the vampire calmly stated, "That _better_ have been just the start of a friendly joke between us there, mate. Because if you don't instantly come up with something of a more monetary nature, I'm going to be dining on frog's legs two minutes from now! Got that?"

Its bulbous eyes bulging more than usual in a flattened and extra-wide head now kept absolutely still in terror, the clan leader frantically groped inside a pouch attached to a chest strap wrapped around the front of its body. Without looking, this frog creature quickly pulled out and displayed to Spike a flawless black pearl, easily the size of a golf ball.

Brightening up at seeing what was now offered to him, Spike also unthinkingly let go of the frog-being's tongue.

_THWACK!_

Handily snatching from the air the pearl which had just been sent flying, Spike studied this gorgeous jewel for a moment, before nodding in his casual acceptance of this fee for a contracted murder. Just as unconcerned was the vampire's indifferent, "Sorry about that, old chap, but at least you can console yourself with the fact you've just hired the best."

Taking another opportunity to admire something Dru was going to really enjoy, Spike ignored the anguished whimpers drifting across the booth, which were coming from behind a pair of webbed hands clapped over an aching mouth.

* * *

The next night, Spike was in the charming hamlet of Mount Kisco, New York, where there'd been no trouble finding the exact site where his target was residing. After some more idle moments of contemplating the odd fact he was about to kill an architect for the first time ever, Spike next carefully listened for any sound of his prey moving about inside the house. Unfortunately, everything was quiet in there, indicating the man living on his own at this place was probably away right now.

Giving a nonchalant shrug over what couldn't possibly be helped, Spike stepped forward from his position on the sidewalk. He headed straight up the path to the house's front door. The vampire wasn't expecting any real problems. All he had to do was to get inside, wait there for as long as necessary while guzzling any decent booze around, and then ambush what's-his-name whenever this bloke came home. Next, Spike would contact Chief Froggy and tell it their vengeance was accomplished, jolly good show and all that rot.

This vampire's optimism lasted up to the middle of the pathway, when Spike walked face-first directly into an invisible barrier. Staggering backwards while hastily clutching at a now-throbbing nose, Spike squinted in astonished disbelief at the quiet house which still showed no signs of what was mystically defending this residence.

He muttered suspiciously to nobody in particular, "Damn it to hell, protective wards? Are there any more surprises waiting for me around here, which greenface didn't bother to mention?"

Sidling up towards the proper spot, Spike warily extended a fingertip until it ran into the same magical barricade. A quick stab of searing pain rushing along his hand, followed with a nasty _sizzle!_ had him abruptly yanking this scorched fingertip back with a pained yelp. Now really annoyed, Spike reluctantly did it again several more times while making a complete circuit of the house. It was all to no avail; the home was truly safeguarded against such malign characters as Spike and other creatures of the night.

Pausing as a sudden though struck him, Spike turned his head to study with growing interest the barn close at hand. Giving a quick sniff, the vampire nodded in satisfaction at smelling at least one horse presently stabled in that building used for livestock. Spike mused out loud again, "I should be able to get in there, no problem. Wards are for homes only; they aren't put on barns and suchlike. The bloke I'm here for, he'll surely check on his horse before retiring for the night, so that's where I'll butcher him."

Still, even when he started approaching the barn, Spike kept his hand held out before him, just in case. Only when the vampire made it completely unaffected past the entire dirt yard to then stand in front of the double doors for the framed building did he relax. Spike next reached for the far right handle of that section of the sliding door.

Inside the barn, equine nostrils flared, and a long head with a white blaze running down the muzzle turned to unblinkingly regard the opening door. Spike didn't notice any of this, since after entering the barn, he'd turned to close the sliding panel while giving one last glance outside for any possible eyewitnesses. Confident he'd slipped inside without being noticed, Spike let go of the inner door handle, and he turned again to face the building interior.

At that exact moment, two rear hooves held together and moving with incredible force smashed against Spike's chest before he had the slightest chance to react in time to this.

_CRASH!_

Spike's hurtling body, lifted completely off the ground and tossed backwards, had just flown through the barn door in an eruption of shattered planks and wood splinters. Landing onto his back, the dazed vampire slid a few feet further on the dirt floor, wheezing in genuine agony at what seemed like every rib in his torso having just been reduced into bone toothpicks. Painfully lifting his head to peer down the front of his body, Spike gaped at the two horseshoe prints newly stamped upon his shirt. Both of these marks were brightly glowing with a golden color.

Right after this, _something_ charged from out of the barn, widening further the hole where a destroyed door had been. Sending even more pieces of debris sailing through the air, it headed directly at Spike with every bit of speed all four legs could take it, all while blazing in luminous glory as vivid as the very sun.

As for himself, Spike had immediately thrown an arm over his face lest his eyes actually melt at the onrushing wave of searing supernatural heat which was also causing every bit of his exposed flesh to start smoking. Frenziedly rolling over, Spike scrambled onto his feet, which only led to the back of his head and neck beginning to char in equal measure. He then ran like hell away from the barn and whatever was chasing him. For only a few steps, though, more's the pity. That's when he collided full-tilt into another protective ward which had materialized there just a second ago.

Rebounding in reverse a good yard or so, Spike was about to dazedly collapse onto the ground. He didn't make it, not with the vicious front hoof kick to his back which sent Spike slamming ahead into the ward once more. This time, nothing interrupted his boneless crumple, save for the continuous roar of rage stabbing into the barely conscious vampire's ears.

"YOU DARE, LEECH? IN _MY_ HOME, AGAINST _MY_ MASTER? THERE'LL BE NOTHING LEFT BUT ASHES WHEN I'M DONE WITH YOU, JUST LIKE THOSE OTHER TWO KILLERS SENT BY THE VRELLS!"

Spike remained curled up on the dirt in absolute misery, both arms futilely wrapped around his head for their useless protection. He then blindly howled upwards without any hesitation at all, "Let me go, and I'll wipe them out, down to the very last frog!"

At that, there was a definite change in the maddened atmosphere. Spike didn't care, since this demon presently felt as if he was about to wholly combust any second now. Except…the heat searing him abruptly switched off. Moaning with real gratitude, Spike spent the next few moments huddling there on the ground while his body healed itself.

This was eventually interrupted by the deep voice above him contemptuously saying, "Look at me, vampire, _now!_"

There was nothing he wanted to do less, but an undead Englishman reluctantly pulled apart his arms and glanced up. His jaw promptly dropped at what Spike was now observing at a much too close distance. It appeared to be a completely ordinary horse, albeit one with a rare golden palomino coat aside from the vertical white blaze on its upper muzzle. All the same, when Spike's gaze met the horse's own eyes, the blood-drinking monster cringed at perceiving the equine's orbs as being a pair of radiant yellow spheres of pure, churning energy.

Tossing his mane, the horse sneered out loud, "So, to save your precious skin, you'll swear to exterminate those foul things? Why should I believe you, little vrykolakas?"

Always ready to blow his own horn even in times of utter peril like now, the vampire indignantly declared, "Listen, I'm William the Bloody! And-"

Abruptly stopping at the sudden realization of what was before him, Spike at length said weakly, "And you're a talking horse..."

A most impatient snort came from this same equine, "How'd you ever guess? Now, _you_ listen, scum. Nothing could prevent me from destroying you for once and all in a mere instant, if I want. Do you understand that?"

Spike vigorously nodded several times in total surrender. Giving the defeated monster on the ground a supremely disdainful glance down his long nose, the horse continued, "But the truth is, those vile creatures who hired you won't stop just because you don't come back to them. They'll send as many more of your kind as they can afford or even other demons to murder my master, and _I will not tolerate that._"

With those last implacable words, the horse's luminous eyes flared into a golden conflagration which further kindled itself by the entire form of this animal also blazing bright. Spike shrieked in his resumed burning, until the overwhelming light borne by the horse dimmed again to its previous level. This was accompanied by a merciless voice ordering, "I can smell on you the payment my enemies provided, leech. Bring it out, and put this down on the ground!"

Rapidly searching through his clothing, Spike soon produced the immensely valuable black pearl he was still carrying from last night when that damn Chief Froggy had deviously lured the vampire into one of the worst ever decisions of his unlife. Fumbling with this round object, Spike reached out to leave it there on the barnyard, and he started pulling back his hand.

This was interrupted by the horse additionally commanding, "No, keep your hand there, right above the pearl."

Too cowed to disobey, Spike did exactly as he was told. He still automatically asked, "What for-? _AAAHHHH!_"

That scream of utter agony was due to the horse violently stomping one hoof right onto Spike's outstretched hand. This blow was so powerful that it not only broke every single bone in there, but the wrecked hand was then smashed down hard enough to wholly crush the pearl below into useless fragments. Still wailing at the unexpected torment, Spike snatched back his hand, to then snivel unbelievingly at the golden horseshoe imprint now covering most of the top of that tortured flesh.

Cradling his near-destroyed hand while it began to heal much more slowly than usual, Spike then heard the horse proclaim, "You've been marked by me, demon. For the next three trips of my first master's chariot across the heavens, you'll bear the suffering I've inflicted upon you, as an incentive to track down and destroy every single one of the Vrells, wherever they may be. If you _don't_ succeed in this, at precisely sunrise on the fourth day from tomorrow, you'll burn, leech! No possible magic you might seek will prevent this, and the deepest, darkest plague pit you find to cower in won't stop it from happening, either! Nor may you feed on humans during everything, except for the Vrells you slaughter. Now, _GO!_ Run, and never come back, lest I think you're after Wilbur again! Because if you do, all of Tartarus will tremble at your punishment!"

Spike immediately leapt to his feet and fled in a heedless hurry from the barnyard. He never even noticed passing without harm the point where the protective wards vanished to permit his exit, and then returned to their formidable guarding strength. The vampire disappeared into the darkness surrounding Mount Kisco, with a horse continuing to watch and listen with this animal's otherworldly senses until the beast was assured Spike was fully gone. Giving a scornful swish of his tail, the golden equine trotted back into the barn through the massive entry hole there and he returned to his stall.

Glancing over his shoulder, Mister Ed mentally commanded the door to repair itself. In an abrupt flash of white light, this panel was again in perfect order, down to the very last splinter. After all, it wouldn't do for Wilbur Post to ever wonder just how much more unusual his animal companion actually was than a mere talking horse.

Chuckling quietly to himself, he who had once been Eos, one of the four immortal horses drawing the fiery chariot of the Greek sun-god Helios, now dipped his head downwards into the feed trough to grab and munch on a very appreciated mouthful of fresh, sweet hay.


	10. August 10, 1979

Summary: There are times when even Spike can drink too much, which resulted in this amiably liquored-up creature of the night being taken to the nearest New York City precinct by the cop who collared him for public intoxication.

* * *

"I'm a vampire, see? But don't tell anyone - gotter keep the big secret, y'know," slurred the seated, swaying young blond man in a very conspirational whisper delivered while leaning forward over the front edge of the desk occupied by a police detective taking his statement.

Discreetly scooting his wobbly chair back a few inches along the precinct floor to get safely out of range from the foul blast of alcohol-laden breath wafting his way, Detective Stan Wojciehowicz merely said, "Uh-huh."

The officer of the law known to one and all as 'Wojo' then held up a petitioning forefinger. This was clearly a silent request for a moment's patience from the other man presently looking more than a bit confused at such an incredibly casual acceptance of his recent claim about being a bloodsucking fiend from myths and folklore. Bending forward in his chair to reach down, Wojo opened the lower desk drawer and he started rummaging through the multiple types of forms in there.

In the middle of this while shielded from the puzzled glance of someone who'd obviously had a few dozen too many, the detective closed his eyes once again in fervent prayer that their boss, Captain Barney Miller, would finally talk the higher-ups into putting everyone back on the day shift. It couldn't happen soon enough for Wojo and his fellow squadmates.

Over the last few weeks, the entire office had come to detest being switched to cover the precinct's night responsibilities as an experiment in increasing police productivity. The problem was that if they'd preferred working graveyard shifts in the first place like some of the other cops here, Wojo and the rest of the guys would've just earlier requested a transfer to this nocturnal schedule. Now, particularly for those with families, they had to deal with living different hours than their loved ones, trying to fall asleep during the day, and basically getting even unhappier by the minute about the whole fiasco.

It definitely didn't help either that the usual duties of the precinct seemingly got even zanier than normal right after sunset. Over the years, Miller, Wojo, Harris, Dietrich and the others had become quite blasé about their daytime encounters with the city's numerous human fruitcakes. However those wackos arrived at the squad room from morning to afternoon, either due to being arrested or as an unconventional member of the public visiting for their own eccentric reasons, it'd merely been part of the job. Now, though, those recent times were wistfully remembered by Wojo and the other detectives every second they had to deal with the much more weird nocturnal New York City bozos dropping by, who were all and sundry taking utter looniness to a whole new level.

Case in point: the noticeably hammered guy here happily announcing his identity as a real-life vampire. Wojo's latest unwanted assignment was due to the rest of the office leaving together a few minutes ago on their dinner break, save for himself holding down the fort while the captain was busy in his own attached room at the back. Stifling a sigh among the otherwise unoccupied desks, Wojo tried to look on the bright side. At least with his co-workers gone and unable to listen onto the imminent booking of that guy, nobody would afterwards start up with the Polish jokes.

"Hey, Wojo, how many Polack vampires does it take to turn into a bat?" ...And so on, and so on...

Finding the proper form at last, the detective took it out of his drawer, and then he used a knee to nudge shut that protruding part of the desk. It was time to begin the paperwork for charging this supremely plastered drunk. Slipping an arrest form into the battered typewriter well into its last legs, Wojo held his fingers over this recording machine on his desk, getting ready for his usual hunt-and-peck style. Glancing at the guy across the desk frowning at him, this veteran cop tolerantly began by the book, "What's your name, sir?"

Instead of immediately answering the question, tonight's latest criminal mastermind doubtfully asked in turn, "Hullo, you _did_ hear what I said, right? About me being a vampire, the finest ever monster to sink a fang into someone's neck and drain out their blood to the last sweet bead of hemoglobin?"

"That'll be put at the bottom of the form, sir," a very patient policeman replied with the straightest face he could manage at the moment.

From the own satisfied expression promptly appearing below a pair of glazed eyes, this deadpan answer had gone over quite well with Mr. Blotto. Sensing this was his chance, Wojo tried, "Let's start again with your name, okay?"

"Oh, aye," drawled the detainee plainly a good three sheets in the wind. "Well, I'm best known among the other vampires as William the Bloody, but all my friends use the nickname of Spike. You can call me that too, if you like." Pausing to hiccup several times, this Spike guy beamed at Wojo tapping with the greatest of care on the aged typewriter's keys while setting down this latest screwy bit of information.

Looking up when that was done, a resigned Wojo went on, "Now, what's your birthdate, Mr. Spike?"

The man being questioned groggily shook his head. "No, no, just Spike, mate. Um, ah, let's see now. I was born..."

There was a few more moments of silence after the other man had trailed off in his statement to then blankly stare off into the distance. Soon enough, Wojo cleared his throat in the most polite cough he could manage. This brought back the drunk's attention to his interviewer, with the younger man's countenance abruptly turning miserable for seemingly no evident reason.

Right after that, Wojo heard a mournful voice with genuine hurt lurking in this tone, "Bloody hell, it's been so damned long since I've had a birthday party! There hasn't even been a nice congratulations card from somebody, anyone at all, for growing another year older!"

Before his intoxicated prisoner in fact started crying, an actually sympathetic Wojo quickly interrupted, "That's too bad, sir. Can you at least tell me where and when you came into this world?"

Starting to tilt slightly to one side, Spike mumbled, "Since you put it so polite like that, it was in London, of course. My dear old mum always told me the roses in our garden were coming into full bloom when she had me, back in 1855."

There was then and there a slightly incredulous pause between the pair in the otherwise deserted office.

Wojo sent a long, thoughtful stare at the inebriated claimant for an extremely problematic declaration of more than a century of life currently slumping down in his seat. Seriously considering pointing out that providing false information to a law officer was a chargeable offense, Wojo glanced again at someone clearly about to slide off their chair any second now. Rolling his eyes in mild exasperation, the cop decided there really wasn't any point. Giving a jaded shrug, Wojo simply typed his best estimate of that guy's real age onto the arrest form, no more than twenty-five years old at the most.

At that point, a professional-type stranger dressed in a luxurious suit manifestly worth more than the entire contents of the squad room came through the station's front door. Casting a quick, disdainful gaze around at the dilapidated office for several hard-working cops who were away for the moment, this natty gent caught sight of his apparent objective. Bustling in a straight line towards Spike and a startled Wojo to then stop by this policeman's desk, that descendant of Polish immigrants was at once handed several legal documents taken out by the newcomer from a most expensive briefcase carried along by the other man.

Regarding with honest bafflement at the unexpected stack of papers he was now holding, Wojo then saw out of the corner of his eye the arrest form he'd been working on being yanked out of his typewriter by the stranger.

"Hey!" came as a quick objection from the copper.

In a distinctly over-cultured voice, it was announced to both Wojo and a rather unfocused Spike by the newest member of their company, "Officer, I'm Richard Quinton, legal representative from Wolfram and Hart's New York branch. My client here-" (a firm nod was bestowed into the befuddled detainee's direction) "-has had his bail, fines, and whatever other fees paid by my firm at the local courthouse, and his case was naturally dismissed at once. It's all there in those documents, so if you'll just come this way, we can leave now, sir."

Those last words were delivered to a most confused blond man in his chair. After owlishly contemplating this for another couple of seconds, Spike let loose a thunderous belch. Staggering up onto his feet, a former prisoner squinted at the waiting lawyer, before cautiously saying, "I think I remember you from a while back, my last visit here. Good thing I paid in advance for this type of situation, eh?"

"Quite so, sir," was imperturbably returned by Mr. Quinton. "Shall we go?"

Spike nodded in affable agreement. Still, when the Wolfram and Hart lawyer began to turn to take his departure, this attorney was stopped in his tracks by a quick "Hold up, you!"

Swinging around to solemnly peer down with drunken concentration at the cop staring back in his own perplexity, Spike shook a wobbly forefinger several times towards Wojo. This was accompanied by a genial, "Listen, sonny, you're a good bloke, so I'll do you a wee bit of a favor. Not just you, mind, but all your friends here. When I sober up, the word will be passed around the city's demon bars that William the Bloody says to always leave this place alone, or they'll answer to me! Ta, then."

A minute or so later, Barney Miller wandered out of his enclosed office further back in the squad room on his way for some fresh coffee. During this errand, the senior detective stopped at a certain subordinate's desk, interrupting that other man's puzzled examination of a number of papers scattered over his desk. "Evening, Wojo. What've you got there?"

"Oh, hi, boss," looked up Wojo while briskly gathering together the documents and depositing all of them into his OUT tray on the desk. "Nothing all that important, I got to say. Just finished up a case that's over and done with, some drunk tourist from England having a really wild imagination."


	11. August 11, 1898

Summary: Long ago, Spike was much too closer than he preferred to a classic Western moment.

* * *

*Why don't they just damn well get _on_ with it?* resentfully thought an exasperated Spike stretched out inside his wooden crate. *Honestly, that's got to be the laziest ever bunch of train robbers out there!*

The vampire taking his rest during a transcontinental railroad journey across the United States during the last years of the nineteenth century had good reason for his growing discontent still a few days before arriving at their destination. While passing the time with continuous napping during daylight hours, he'd been awoken a good quarter hour before by the unexpected lurching halt of Spike's express train. This standstill included the baggage car in which his crate had been loaded onto earlier without anyone the wiser of its demonic contents. Next had come the explanation for this delay from nearby conversations Spike had eavesdropped upon, how the train had just been captured by a bunch of thieves on horseback.

Ordinarily, Spike wouldn't have given a single tinker's dam about someone else's heist, but he was already completely bored out of his soddin' mind without having to wait through much more suspension of services by his current means of transportation. Now, of all things, the idiotic mail clerk out there in the baggage car had barricaded himself inside his workplace and he wasn't handing over the loot like a proper holdup victim should!

Cursing to himself, Spike lying down on his back in the darkness of the nailed-shut crate yanked from under the rear of his skull the heavy coat he'd been using as a handy pillow. With a few quick, angry movements of his hands, Spike wrapped this article of clothing completely around his head. Finally shutting out that nonstop stupid argument going on between the mail clerk and the leader of the robbers, Spike thankfully went back to sleep.

Five minutes later, the dozing vampire was blasted out of his slumber and also nearly from existence by the detonation of a genuinely excessive amount of explosives a mere few yards away.

Dazedly pulling off the coat covering his face to look up in disbelief at the bright blue sky now full of flying debris where both the top of his crate and the baggage car's roof were still rising upwards, Spike the vampire felt his exposed flesh start to sear in the sunlight. The incredible pain of this quickly cut through Spike's stupor, so that he reached out with frantic fingers to grab for the nearest loose planks. Managing to wholly cover himself with these fragments right before he would've turned into ashes, Spike huddled out of sight under the remains of his crate by the far corner of the baggage car. Hopefully, nobody would discover him there until nightfall, when he'd definitely get off this bloody train and _walk_ all the rest of the way, if necessary!

Still mostly in a state of shock, Spike then heard through the ringing in his ears how some bloke well off to the left of the wrecked baggage car now asked in a supremely deadpan tone, "Think you used enough dynamite there, Butch?"


	12. August 12, 1958

Summary: Due to the cover-up later for national security purposes, anybody checking the rumors about something strange occurring in a Pennsylvania town would be misdirected into thinking it happened several weeks earlier and go on a wild-goose chase.

* * *

A demoralized Spike kept on desperately running through the night-time Pennsylvania countryside, crashing through bushes and other greenery along the way. At every few panicky strides, the vampire fearfully glanced over his shoulder, even though he knew deep down there wasn't any real reason to feel pursued. Spike didn't care; he still wanted to put as much distance as possible between himself and that bloody town back there.

He hadn't felt like this ever before about what the blond demon encountered mere minutes earlier and next made a frantic sprint away from, while being so damned apprehensive. That definitely included during then whatever other perils in his unlife which Spike had come across and next casually dismissed as nothing to be worried about, rather. Such as, the bizarre creature from outer space known as The Blob.

* * *

Spike first confronted that giant amoeba-like alien just hours ago when he'd slipped into the town's movie theater (without paying, naturally), and sat in the dark while deciding which of the crowd there would do for his dinner. This menu selection was soon interrupted by an oozing mass composed of several hundredweight of a jelly-like substance bursting out from behind the projection screen and overwhelming the audience.

The genuine oddness of that event had caused Spike to stay stock-still in sheer astonishment where he'd been sitting, gawking at how that thing was consuming everyone in the theater - right up to the point when it abruptly extruded an appendage and seized Spike with this elastic limb, easily drawing the struggling vampire into its main mass.

There'd had been a bad moment or two for Spike during this, until he noticed that unlike the other captured people, his demonic body wasn't being dissolved and absorbed by this oversized lump of soddin' aspic. Maybe the magic which allowed for the existence of a walking corpse with a fervent hunger for human blood might have had something to do with it.

Regardless, Spike was firmly held inside the squishy substance covering every bit of the vampire's body, and he couldn't get free. No matter how hard he punched, kicked, and clawed, the strange stuff surrounding him simply flowed back into place without the slightest signs of damage. Spike eventually ceased in these fruitless endeavors, particularly when the previous clear gel keeping him captive slowly changed into a reddish shade, cutting off his vision.

There'd been no way to tell how much time passed then, with all his other senses equally useless. In the interior darkness of his mobile prison, Spike sullenly waited for any possible chance that might come along for him to break loose. This eventually ensued, accompanied by what Spike hadn't been expecting at all - an increasing _cold_ sensation.

Right after this unanticipated, steep drop in the temperature around him, Spike could now actually touch what was at present encasing him in icy solidness. He promptly took full advantage of this, digging his way through the tunnel ahead of him created by vigorous thrusts and sweeps of his hands and arms propelled by every bit of his monstrous strength. Spike finally burrowed his way to freedom, emerging horizontally just a foot or so above ground into what looked like some back alley. Shoving his body completely clear of the enormous frozen chunk of an alien entity, the demon landed on his hands and knees onto stained asphalt. Only his inner chiding that he bloody didn't do things like this kept Spike from thankfully kissing the alley floor.

Instead, Spike got to his feet with all the dignity the vampire could manage, brushed off his clothes, and then he discreetly circled around the block to investigate the noisy fuss going on at the front of his new location. There, he found a bunch of townsfolk with discharged carbon dioxide fire extinguishers celebrating their victory over The Blob, which was when Spike learned what else had happened tonight.

Keeping to the shadows while lighting up a celebratory fag, Spike enjoyed the tobacco's harsh bite, until his empty stomach reminded the vampire he still hadn't had a chance for a proper repast tonight. Idly glancing around at the happy crowd of humans to determine who wouldn't be immediately missed or just thought to have been one more of The Blob's victims, Spike's gaze ultimately fell upon _him._

Standing there in horrified awe, Spike couldn't help but numbly wonder if everyone else there were totally blind to the incarnation of calm within their midst. Why wasn't anybody falling to their knees and worshipping that nonchalant bloke? Yes, this young man in front of a destroyed diner appeared as if he'd only recently come into his powers, but to Spike's supernatural senses, he was still a boundless display of splendiferous cool.

Cringing away from psychically witnessing so much of someone's ability to remain levelheaded and manly in the most difficult circumstances possible, Spike felt absolute despair creeping over him at how much less he was compared to that gent. Throughout his whole existence as a vampire, Spike had swaggered and sneered and acted as macho as possible, all to compensate for being such a timid wanker endlessly spewing out horrible poetry in his previous breathing days. And right now, he was facing somebody who put him, William the Bloody, damned well into the shade.

Spike spun around and ran like hell.

He didn't stop until he was far, far away from that Pennsylvania town and its savior, who was apparently named 'Steve.'

* * *

Author's Note: The character of Steve Andrews in the 1958 horror film _The Blob_ was indeed played by one Steve McQueen who later went on to make a few little films like _The Sand Pebbles, Bullitt, Papillon, The Thomas Crown Affair,_ and _The Great Escape,_ during which this actor acquired the rightful nickname of 'The King of Cool.'


	13. August 13, 1934

Summary: Even without Mammy Yokum or her son getting involved, Dogpatch has a good many other inhabitants more than capable of dealing handily with a vampire.

* * *

Walking down the dirt and gravel (but mostly dirt) road somewhere way back in the Ozark hills, Spike sneered contemptuously at the valley and its slovenly village laid out in the darkness before him a mile on and several hundred feet lower in elevation. It was bad enough he'd wound up totally lost tonight, but the assortment of shabby cabins, tumble-down shacks, and other pathetic structures seen at the end of the rutted and potholed lane was hardly Spike's idea of civilization. Why, there weren't even any telephone or telegraph poles much less electric lights there, just a few dim oil lanterns and lamps scattered around that miniscule, trash-strewn settlement.

Spike slowed in his ill-tempered strides to instead walk a bit more pensively while he mulled over the exceptionally malevolent idea which had just occurred to him. It'd been far too long since the vampire had carried out a nice, gory massacre of innocents in job lots, and the isolated place down there seemed absolutely perfect for this. Just one road in or out, most likely, and that same path untidily carved from the steep hillside looked easy enough to block with a landslide or two. Once that was accomplished by Spike's vampire strength, slip into the small town and make sure nobody could send out a message calling for help. Then, methodically waylay the adult menfolk who might try to fight back, along with butchering the lesser prey such as the oldsters and the younger children.

The blond demon let a gloating smile of pure evil appear on his handsome features as he continued his journey to the town unaware of its approaching doom. With any luck, there'd be a few good-looking women and girls left over after the initial slaughter for him to take his time with for the rest of the night. Maybe stretch it out longer, if he could find a cellar or something like this to stay hidden from the sun the next day. Happily nodding at this splendid prospect, Spike picked up his pace, eager to get started in tonight's latest episode for the vampire of blood and death.

Swaggering past the decaying road sign identifying the town below as 'Dogpatch', Spike hit a slightly thicker spot of gravel layering the road. Under his treading boots, the tiny stones crunched loudly together. An undead monster didn't bother walking more softly; he was still too far away from that idiotically-named conurbation for anyone there to hear him.

Spike never considered that somebody else might be close by, and also quite willing to express their own severe annoyance over the current disturbance in the night made by some 'furriner'.

When the stranger he'd been watching for several minutes from a concealed spot higher up on the hillside passed by below, a lean figure silently emerged out of the shadows cast by the surrounding pines there. Taking aim, this bushwhacker tracked with his weapon's muzzle the oblivious victim heading towards Dogpatch.

_BANG!_

Bringing down his smoking rifle, Smilin' Zack peered at a body now lying limply on the road beneath the local killer. His ever-present menacing grin growing a bit wider on the man's cadaverous face, this mountaineer turned to slip through the greenery around him without making the slightest sound. Ahhhh, peace and quiet at last - but most important of all, _quiet,_ which was the only proper thing to be in the ragged ambusher's opinion. Just like the formerly noisy intruder who'd made such a racket a moment ago, but ol' Zack fixed that right proper, yessir. Glorying in the stillness around him, the homicidal hillbilly forever yearning for unadulterated hush (and extremely willing to target everybody in his vicinity for it) went back to his cabin without another glance at the stranger he'd just fatally shot right in the head.

When his supernatural healing eventually caused Spike to wake up, this vampire opened his eyes to find himself being carried in a jackknifed posture over someone's shoulder, staring face down at their broad arse barely contained by a pair of tattered trousers. This unknown person walking down the Dogpatch road was bearing Spike's weight without any strain at all, except for an arm lazily thrown over the demon's lower back to keep him from falling off.

Instantly deciding he damn well needed to get loose and then find out just what the hell was going on, Spike shoved hard with his arms against the other's rotund body while also fiercely wriggling the rest of his body. It almost worked, with Spike entirely slipping down the back of his captor, until a ham-sized hand clamped shut onto Spike's ankle. In the next instant, Spike was flung up and away through the air by that gripping hand and arm showing tremendous strength by effortlessly playing crack-the-whip with the vampire just before releasing him. Tumbling in his flight while flailing uselessly with all limbs, a horrified Spike saw he'd been thrown over the road edge cut into the near-vertical hillside. With a hopeless scream, this demon plummeted into the trees growing at the bottom of the gulch several hundred feet below.

Two very unusual individuals stood side-by-side at the rim of the road, looking down in their mutual astonishment, as the sounds of a body rapidly crashing through branches ended with an extremely terminal _THUD!_

Unable to see anything further through the shadowy darkness below, Hairless Joe turned to his partner. Angrily brandishing in his other hand the heavy club he carried everywhere, this modern Cro-Magnon growled, "Lonesome Polecat, yo' dadblasted numbskull! That feller we collected, he wuzn't daid like yo' claimed!"

"Ugh!" promptly argued back the diminutive, loin-clothed Indian. "Him have bullet hole in head, him not breathing, him heart not beating! Pretty sure that make him dead!"

The hirsute man dressed in his ragged overalls snorted, "Well, fer a corpse, he moved mighty frisky tryin' to git away! Now where are we'uns gonna find another carcass tonight to give our latest batch of Kickapoo Joy Juice some more body?"

Lonesome Polecat just shrugged. "Plenty moose, bear, panther in hills around for you to hit with club and toss in vat. We go on hunt now, okay? Just don't throw 'em over cliff like that again!"

Still bickering away, the pair of mismatched friends wandered off into the night. Neither of them ever gave another thought to their odd encounter with a blond stranger, who at the moment was irately laying face-down on the ground a few hundred yards from his original destination while waiting for his numerous broken bones to knit back together.

A few minutes later, an enraged Spike strode directly towards the nearest hovel at the Dogpatch outskirts. Considering the utterly vile mood he was in at present, the only thing which would improve Spike's livid temper was to immediately murder on sight the very first person to cross his path. The undead Englishman's attention was soon drawn by the house he was approaching having its front door swing open. Beginning to smirk at this chance to so quickly sate his thirst for others' suffering, Spike ignored the intense stench coming from a fenced-off section by another house to the side. He kept on striding to meet whoever was now stepping out of the residence ahead-

Freezing in his tracks, Spike's mind instantaneously switched itself off. He was left standing there, blankly staring ahead while his unknowing quarry left behind yet another victim of her extraordinary beauty. Never seeing Spike out in the darkness at the edge of Dogpatch, Stupefyin' Jones, undoubtedly the most gorgeous woman in the entire world, went to visit a friend elsewhere in the neighborhood. She'd done this often enough so that the town's menfolk knew better than to peek at where Stupefyin' would be walking along at this time of the night. After all, besides the irksome, short-lived consequence of having your thoughts get doused right away like a bucket of water dumped onto a lit candle, this recovery usually came with the unhappy discovery that your wife was just about to forcefully clout you with her rolling pin for being such an idiot.

Spike, on the other hand, woke up to his stomach being experimentally prodded by some disrespectful titch who'd come along while the vampire was still in his severe daze. Outraged by this stranger's totally impertinent behavior, Spike grabbed him by the throat and lifted that bloke up to head level so that they were staring into each other's eyes. William the Bloody then shifted his classic features into game face just before preparing to tear into pieces that pillock with a small black cloud hovering above the other man's scruffy hat-

…_Wait_ a second, now.

Spike's astonished gaze flickered up to the meteorological representation of Joe Btfsplk's surpassingly bad luck at exactly the moment when this near-sentient jinx decided having its host be eaten by a vampire would spoil all the fun. Without any further ado, the curse of the Btfsplks let fly a tiny lightning bolt from deep within the cloud, which grounded itself right at the tip of Spike's nose.

Reeling backwards, a screaming Spike also dropped Joe who sensibly scurried away. The vampire clapped both hands onto his merrily blazing nose, and after a few more agonized steps in reverse, he did a perfect pratfall over a nearby split-rail fence to unerringly land head-first into a pigsty.

Thrashing about in the glutinous muck stinking to the very heavens above, Spike discovered with horror that he was starting to sink deeper into the mire. At that point, a hand grabbed the vampire by his shoulder. Incensed fingers dug into the undead flesh there, and a former Londoner got unceremoniously yanked out from the pigsty. Standing with trembling legs on somewhat more solid ground, Spike was yelled directly into his smeared face by the unkempt-but-still-striking beauty holding him upright:

"I disremember invitin' y'all to spend the night hyar! Git outta my bed sharpish, or mah paw's shotgun will discuss with y'all our upcomin' nuptials!"

Right after that threat, Spike was firmly turned around and then given such a majestic kick to his rear that he flew entirely over the fence enclosing Moonbeam McSwine's pigsty. Hitting and rolling along the ground while spraying in all directions gobbets of pungent sludge, Spike staggered back up onto his feet, a dripping mess. He next hurriedly fled away from Dogpatch in a desperate search for some clean water - a well, river, or even a puddle - to sluice off the rest of the clinging slime which was giving off such a fragrant aroma of unwashed porkers.

Eventually finding a small creek running out of the hills surrounding the town now a mile or so behind him, Spike knelt on the banks of this yard-wide stream. He hastily cupped a double handful of cold water to scrub his face. Once this was done (including digging out his clogged ears), Spike thoroughly blew his still-scorched nose, ignoring the stabbing pains caused by expelling every bit of that foul mixture stuffed up there. Sighing in genuine relief at once more being able to smell anything other than 'Eau de Piggy,' Spike took another thankful whiff-

After a moment's pause, Spike slowly glanced over his shoulder. There, upwind of him about twenty feet away, a barefooted Amazonian beauty stood, dressed solely in her skimpy furs. On either side of this long-tressed woman was a trio of enormous wolves, with all half-dozen of these savage animals seated upon their haunches. Every one of these creatures, which decidedly included the woman, was hungrily staring at Spike still reeking of their normal prey.

* * *

Puffing at her pipe, Mammy Yokum listened with casual interest from her porch rocking chair to the echoing bestial howls coming from what sounded like the hills to the north. They'd started just a bit ago and were continuing without a break, indicating a chase to the death was still ongoing out there.

"M-M-Mammy, don't yo' think thet someone we'uns know might need rescuin' tonight from them awful critters?" quaveringly came from the interior of the Yokum cabin. From the sound of things, her terrified husband was hiding under their bed again.

Taking out the corncob pipe from her mouth, the matriarch of a hillbilly haven known as Dogpatch spat dismissively onto the ground beyond the porch edge. "Oh, don't fret, Pappy. Wolf Gal and her pack are doin' different bellerin' naow than when they's huntin' down hoomans, and there ain't no farms where thet noise is comin' from. Naw, let 'em enjoy the deer or boar or whutever they's after."

Sprinting at his fastest speed through the Ozark countryside just ahead of the fangs (both lupine and human) snapping away at his heels, Spike bitterly thought to himself, *Bleedin' hell, the only way things could get any unluckier if this wasn't a Monday but instead a damn _Friday_ the thirteenth!*

* * *

Author's Note: August 13, 1934 was indeed when the comic strip _Li'l Abner_ started, and that date just happened to be on Monday, as a matter of fact. Most of the Dogpatch characters depicted in the above story weren't introduced until later on than this specific year (sometimes not even until decades afterwards). I'm sure they were still around in that town beforehand, so that's why Spike got to meet them…and as you've just read, very much to his evident discomfort.


	14. August 14, 1988

Summary: Late one night in Los Angeles, Spike encountered a religious cult, and the dozen young ladies involved in this are now about to welcome him in their own unique fashion.

* * *

Spike always had to admire a good scam.

Especially since in this particular case, the whole cult ritual which an amused vampire was currently watching had obviously been dreamed up just for that robed bloke with the brutish face to surround himself by a harem of nubile prostitutes taken off the local streets. Those loose women with the killer bodies dressed in tight-fitting, cheap robes while standing in a semi-circle before their spiritual leader certainly hadn't been selected for their presumed intellectual abilities, after all.

Hidden in the shadows at the very back of the run-down Los Angeles factory he'd wandered into a few minutes ago from a rear alley, his attention caught by the odd sounds coming from in there, Spike wryly contemplated humanity's immense capacity for gullibility.

*I mean, any bint with a fraction more brains than a gnat surely wouldn't fall for this whole silliness. Mister Whiskers, him in the hood and with what he's passing off as real Egyptian hieroglyphs on his robe, is obviously making up everything on the spot: the daft chanting, his mystical gestures, and most of all, that stupid statue they're all supposed to be worshipping.*

Spike slowly shook his head in genuine wonder.

*What'd he do, lift every scrap of it from the nearest municipal tip and then hamfistedly bung together his idea of what's supposed to be some kind of bloody idol?*

The vampire glanced past the humans clad in their idiotic attempts at ceremonial dress. He sent a distinct sneer towards the clumsy replica of presumably one or the other Nile deities set up at the far end of the factory. Frankly, Spike had seen much better work done by a blind, senile, sculptor wielding a rubber chisel while dealing with a severe hangover at the same time.

Any concerns that he might possibly be mistaken and this was in fact a sincerely faithful ceremony of some kind were fading fast for Spike. For one, he'd strolled right into this factory without the slightest bit of trouble. There hadn't been the least trace of consecrated ground or sanctified protective wards which normally repelled vampires and other unholy creatures.

Truth be told, Spike couldn't detect _any_ sort of magic, light or dark, in this entire soddin' place. Which lead back to the vampire's original theory: that this was some sort of grand fiddle by the gent up there in his oversized tent of a robe, all done to get his ashes thoroughly hauled with those whores he'd conned into believing their holy man's lies.

*Not tonight, though,* smirked Spike. *Wouldn't miss it for the world, all those nice, juicy necks gathered together here, just for me.*

Making one last check, Spike took a deep sniff of the factory air. He got the same scents as before, with these being about a dozen female bodies in good health and growing excitement, one man who really should change his socks more often, and finally the lesser gasoline and oil-based smells still hanging around the place. This latter aroma was probably due to the factory's history before it shut down and sold off whatever machinery had been here in the past.

At that point, Spike's thoughts were diverted by the Pyramid Power Priest then bellowing out a long stretch of nonsense syllables, which culminated in an echoing "HA-NA-SAAAAAAH!" reverberating throughout the abandoned factory. In obedience to this, all of the women there now took off their robes in flawless unison, letting these clothes fall to the concrete floor next to the fabric-wrapped bundles which had remained there throughout the entire ceremony.

These rolled-up cylindrical packages, one for every woman, were undoubtedly the mattresses which would be placed together for the upcoming orgy between the con man and his devotees, Spike instantly decided. This prompt conclusion drawn by the vampire was due to the delightful feature of virtually all those bints presently wearing nothing more than a wisp of underwear.

Feeling like the luckiest demon in the world, Spike gleefully ogled the exposed bums revealed to him, each and every one of these barely concealed by the most rubbishy type of lingerie ever invented. Unfortunately, Spike couldn't see past the backs of those women standing there, but they were clearly not wearing any bras, as indicated by the bare flesh of their upper spines. That little detail at once made up Spike's mind that it was now time to introduce himself, and also get a closer look at those tits in all their glory.

Where there had been a fulfilled silence in the factory at the culmination of their ceremony, this was straightaway ended by enthusiastic clapping coming from the gloomy rear of the vast room. The women's heads swiftly turned to stare in shocked astonishment at the stranger striding into sight towards them while still appreciatively applauding. Spike shortly ceased in this, to instead bring his right thumb and forefinger to his mouth. He used these digits to then give a shrill, extended whistle which caused some of the near-naked women to wince at the lengthy blast of sound.

Leering around at the lovely topless ladies when he came up to and then went through their semi-circle they maintained during all this, Spike reluctantly switched his gaze to a much less pleasant sight. At the far wall next to the shoddy Egyptian statue, a supposed priest was balefully regarding their uninvited guest.

Stopping within arm's length of that bloke, Spike decided to spend a few moments taunting what's-his-name before getting down to an agreeable spot of rapine and slaughter. *Hmmm, maybe instead of killing him right off, I'll just break all his arms and legs and let him watch until it's over with. Then, see how much of that ridiculous statue I can shove up his arse-*

Spike's evil plans were abruptly interrupted by the bearded man now authoritatively fixing his gaze upon his female flock and booming out at full volume to them, "SISTERS OF THE NIGHT, REJOICE! OUR ENEMY HAS SHOWN HIS FACE TO US! I COMMAND YOU, BRING HIM DOWN WITH YOUR HOLY WEAPONS BESTOWED BY ME! SO SHALL IT BE!"

"Yeah, right," Spike jeered into the purpling face of the hooded man. Ignoring the sounds coming from behind him of shifting bodies and cloths sliding off unknown objects, the vampire snickered, "What are those twits you suckered in going to do anyway, pummel me to death with their boobs? I think that might kill me in, oh, a few centuries-"

_rrrrrrrrrrrooooooaaaarrrrrRRRRRRRRRR!_

Whirling around at that totally unanticipated deep, mechanical growl, Spike gaped in utter disbelief at what now surrounded him. Every woman in their tasteless panties and thongs had picked up the wrapped bundles by their feet, removed the rags covering these, and fired up their personal chainsaws. These two-stroke motor-driven saws with razor-sharp cutting teeth attached together in a continuous chain continued to rumble as if actually thirsting for a vampire's upcoming demise.

Glancing over his shoulder at a flicker of motion seen from one side then, Spike saw a previously-hidden metal door behind the Egyptian statue slam shut with solid finality behind after the escaping priest, or whoever he truly was. The undead Englishman next switched his attention back to where the women were lifting up their chainsaws at bare chest level and pointing these spinning links right at him.

Each of those female zealots with the light of actual madness shining in their eyes now charged ahead en masse, swinging their unusual weapons from side to side without any regard for the safety of others, least of all themselves. What mattered most instead was obeying the orders of their beloved Master, and chopping into very tiny pieces the already pale intruder swiftly backpedaling.

A few chaotic minutes later, Spike painfully leaned against the wall of the alley he'd sprinted through for the last several blocks. Groaning, the demon with his clothes ripped and torn into shreds and covered entirely in blood (which was a good deal of his own, alas) felt his numerous wounds start to magically heal. Casting a very apprehensive look behind to make sure his hasty retreat from the factory massacre was successful, Spike shuddered at his horrific recent memories of only just making it out of there reasonably intact.

It'd been absolute butchery, with those insane nude bints more than willing to take out each other by complete accident with their ghastly saws, as long as they also got Spike. That outright disorder was why the vampire had legged it at the very first opportunity, when it was either this or directly dodge by mistake into one of those damn cutting machines if he continued to fight on.

Well, he'd made it, and the blond demon definitely wasn't going back there to seek his revenge. He wasn't that stupid. Those surviving nutters could do whatever they liked, for all he cared. As for him, Spike was more than ready to find someone else to eat tonight, maybe one of the other whores working the main boulevards of his current location. At least then there wouldn't be the faintest likelihood of a yard-long revolving saw blade being messily rammed into his groin by this hard-working lady of the evening.

Limping along the alley set in a certain seedy Los Angeles neighborhood long overdue for redevelopment, Spike bitterly groused, "Hookers with chainsaws, my arse! It could only happen here in bleedin' Hollywood!"

* * *

Author's Note: In case you've never heard of it before, this chapter's crossover is the direct-to-video cheapo 1988 movie starring Linnea Quigley and known as _Hollywood Chainsaw Hookers._


	15. August 15, 1963

Summary: They drool, shed, have fleas, and crap wherever they want. Now, visualize all that multiplied a few dozen times. Spike doesn't have to imagine this; it's right in front of him and proudly displayed in a bright red color, to boot.

* * *

Sometimes, unlife was good.

His handsome face taking on a cruel grin, Spike sniffed at the air again. Yes, according to his keen nose, there were at least four pre-teen girls out there. Those lassies seemed to be camping out on their own at a spot in a vacant lot several hundred feet from the nearest house on Birdwell Island. Judging from everything else the night breeze was bringing straight to the vampire, they seemed to be having a very good time. The sounds of these children's happy laughter intermingled with the aroma of roasting marshmallows around the camp fire where a quartet of young girls were clustered around after a day filled with fun and games.

Now, it was time for the nightmare known as William the Bloody to turn it all into terror and suffering.

Eagerly smacking his lips, Spike took his first step toward tonight's latest victims, all ignorant of their approaching doom. However, even before that boot touched the ground, a sudden rush of air directly behind Spike had the vampire quickly spinning on the heel of his other boot to confront whoever was attacking from the rear. Except, it was already much too late for this blood-drinking demon, since Spike's newest adversary had already leapt in an tremendous bound towards what this latest foe had been regarding with growing curiosity from his concealed position at a nearby clump of trees.

_THUD!_

An incredible weight smashed upon the ground right in front of Spike, with this resulting shockwave lifting him entirely off his feet and hurling him onto the ground. Landing on his side, the vampire would've normally scrambled back up at once, fangs and claws ready for a good fight. Instead, Spike simply stayed there, frozen in disbelief while he stared upwards with absolute incredulity into the whiskered canine features far above, with that _thing_ itself gazing down in panting inquisitiveness.

It was a bloody dog...but it had to be at least twenty-five feet tall! Even odder to Spike, what looked like an enormous Irish setter didn't have the usual auburn hair covering those normally smaller beasts. Instead, that overgrown quadruped possessed a bright scarlet fur coat never ordinarily seen in real life for those dogs from Ireland.

Things turned even stranger then, all due to the impatient, girlish shout coming from the distant campfire, "Clifford! Stop that! Go home, and go to sleep!"

The dog's head swung to gaze sheepishly at where his mistress's beloved voice was calling to him. Opening his mouth, Clifford gave an apologetic bark.

Down on the ground, Spike had clapped his hands against the side of his head just in time. Nevertheless, being so close to that loud "WOOF!" almost ruptured his eardrums. Wincing to himself while he recovered from this, Spike froze again in his present posture when the bloody dog then lowered his head to start vigorously sniffing Spike from head to toe.

Clifford couldn't understand it. The little man moved around like all the other people, but he smelled bad-stinky. Not good-stinky, when it was truly worth it to roll around in whatever gave off that wonderful smell. That always made up for Emily scolding him about this and then taking Clifford down to the island's firehouse for a good bath with the fire hoses.

Making another sweep of Spike's entire body in reverse, the dog still nasally investigating him paused at its thorough inhalations just above his head. An instant later, an explosive sneeze from a damp, black nose nearly the size of a washing machine splattered Spike's entire visage with doggy snot.

Frantically wiping away at his befouled face, Spike regained his sight right at the exact moment to see an expression of genuine revulsion appear upon the dog's massive countenance. Next came a swift descend of gaping jaws onto the horrified vampire unable to sufficiently react in time to avoid this.

Picked up entirely without the slightest strain, Spike found himself being carried along in the dog's mouth firmly clamped onto his torso. The canine teeth holding the blond demon tight in place weren't hurting him the least little bit, which was the only thing keeping Spike from giving into his panic and uselessly struggling to escape. Rather, if this colossal beast was in truth trained to fetch and deliver game as gently as possible, just like other retriever dogs this vampire had known during his breathing days while visiting the English countryside during hunting season, as long as Spike stayed still and quiet, he might soon get off completely scot-free.

It was either that, or find out just how well his unliving body could repair itself after being bitten in half by this soddin' mutt!

Craning his head to study the striding dog looking ahead, Spike absently noticed the lips of this animal were raised in an actual grimace of disgust. It was as if it was trying its best not to taste him-

Just when a peeved Spike was beginning to guess the whole absurd truth, the dog stopped after trotting along for a few moments. With his huge legs, this managed to bring Clifford and his nasty find at the proper spot well away and out of earshot from Emily and her friends back at the campsite. In the center of an unused farm pasture, Clifford got to work with his front limbs, busily digging at the ground with these to have enough dirt being shifted in mere seconds which in turn produced a nice, deep hole.

"Oh, no, you bloody don't..." trailed off Spike in his most aghast tone. Recognizing what was about to happen, he started futilely protesting at the top of his lungs.

Paying no attention to the squeaky sounds being made by the little man, Clifford leaned forward to open his mouth directly over the hole he'd just dug. Falling free, Spike twisted his body to land on his feet, and he immediately started scrambling up the slope of loose dirt before him. All of this was done without noticing the dog had turned around and was facing directly away from Spike. Just when he regained the lip of the large crater, a wheelbarrow-load of dirt went flying through the air to unerringly target Spike, catching him directly in the upper torso (including a wincing face) and knocking him backwards.

Tumbling head over heels in an acrobatic return to the bottom of the crater, Spike tried to scream with rage along the way, only to fail in this through his muting mouthful of soil. Spike landed face-down at the lowest point of the hole, just when Clifford got serious at kicking back with both rear legs the rest of the truckload or so of dirt the dog had already moved. Faster than anyone might've thought possible, the hole was soon completely filled in.

Sending a proud look at where he'd gotten rid of that putrid problem, Clifford then wandered back to Emily and her friends at their camp fire. Maybe they had an extra bag of marshmallows there just for him...

Several yards underground, Spike silently fumed, *The bleedin' dog _buried_ me! Like I was some damned discarded bone!*

Shifting his whole body in the dirt heavily weighing him down, the incensed vampire grudgingly became aware it still wouldn't be all that difficult to soon dig his way out of this ridiculous pit. Of course, it led to the pressing question of then what?

Try for those girls again? Absolutely not, what with the red monster hanging around them up there. No, wait a while to make sure it wouldn't be nearby, and then he'd be out and away from the whole damned island. _Including_ that oversized cur!

Sullenly settling himself to wait at the bottom of the hole, Spike then had something else abruptly occur to him. This realization made the demon shudder quietly at a certain gruesome prospect should he change his mind and decide to settle things once and for all with the big red dog. Back when he'd been a day-living Londoner, this blond young man had occasionally seen and experienced a certain example of the canine species' most discomforting form of behavior.

It had been embarrassing enough then, so much that Spike definitely did _not_ want to ever undergo what a 25-foot tall dog could do to this vampire, should that animal decide to hump not merely Spike's leg, but his entire body.

*Right, then. Here goes: One thousand and one damn dog. One thousand and two damn dogs. One thousand and three damn dogs. One thousand and four damn dogs...*


	16. August 16, 1948

Summary: Even the most innocent towns have surprising secrets, of which Spike is going to learn about tonight. With enough luck, the vampire might actually survive his discovery.

* * *

An extremely wary undead Englishman stood in the darkness just outside the city limits of a small, peaceful, Illinois town several dozen miles west from Chicago. Just last night, Spike had been drinking at a demon bar in this Midwestern metropolis, when he'd overheard a casual conversation among a pair of misshapen imbibers. At their own table, these demons were chatting about the rumors of a certain place close by where any master vampire who'd ever visited had promptly left as fast as possible without committing a single murder or other atrocity in there.

These same strangely-reticent monsters also never particularly cared to explain to anyone the specific reasons for these hasty departures. In fact, directly asking them about it usually resulted in the curious getting their heads torn off and tossed into the nearest wastebasket by an extremely annoyed elder vampire.

Naturally, Spike was quite intrigued by what he'd just eavesdropped upon from those two wankers. Leaving his seat at the bar, Spike carried along his glass filled with blood to where these nattering blokes were seated, and without a single by-your-leave, he'd joined them at their table. Next had come numerous probing questions directed at the startled creatures, who confessed to Spike they didn't know anything more about what had been recently discussed, save for the exact location of this town with such an odd reputation among the demon community.

It'd been too late then to make a quick trip to this town, with Spike risking the possibility of being caught by the summer sunrise should he leave right away. Still, when the next sunset came around, a blond vampire was suspiciously regarding the slumbering hamlet spread out before him. There didn't seem to be any evident cause for alarm at the moment. In the dim light of a half-moon above, all Spike saw there was one more hick burg, exactly like any of the hundreds of others scattered throughout the entire state of Illinois during the middle of the 20th century.

This only made Spike even more mistrustful about the whole situation. Those demon buggers who'd told him about this place, they damned well hadn't been lying or otherwise having him on, not when Spike menacingly made it clear to those nervous sods what he'd consequently do to them, their loved ones, and everybody else within range of his ire.

So...if there wasn't any obvious threat, maybe he should check it out further for hidden dangers? Thoughtfully scratching his chin, Spike sent a considering look around at his new location. He then allowed his supernatural essence to probe for signs of magical perils. One of the perks of becoming a vampire, along with the extreme strength, fast healing, and never aging, was if that type of demon worked hard in learning how to do this, they could sense more easily the presence of all kinds of mystical energies: light, dark, and neutral. Nearly seven decades after being turned from a 25-year-old human poet into an undying, blood-drinking fiend, Spike was now pretty good at it.

Except, right at this moment, he couldn't get a single, solitary trace of _any_ sort of magic-

Hold on, now... Spike unconsciously shook his head once, and he stared more fixedly at the sleeping town. Dammit, he kept getting the feeling there was _something_ there, but every time he tried to pin it down, this sensation actually sneaked off and hid from his attentiveness. Either that, or Spike was completely imagining it. It felt the same either way, rather.

Giving a very impatient shrug of his shoulders, the English vampire decided enough was bleedin' enough. The only thing he knew for sure was that you had to actually venture into the town to experience whatever occurrence that none of his kind who'd done the same would ever talk about for some odd reason. Right then, let's be at it, eh?

Confidently striding forward, Spike was nevertheless totally alert for a possible sneak attack. From _what,_ he couldn't say, but it didn't hurt to be ready. A few steps later, the watchful demon passed by the city limits sign.

In the very next instant, Spike's legs gave way under him. He fell forward to slam face-first onto the ground, with his arms feebly thrown out ahead being unable to stop the vampire's collapse. Weakly squirming on the street, Spike's vision dimmed, accompanied by all of his teeth detaching themselves from his gums to next be sprayed out from his mouth in a hacking cough which went on and on.

During all this, Spike ignored the strange crawling sensation coming from his scalp, until all of his hair started falling down his deeply-wrinkled face. Staring at what he could barely see a mere few inches from his nose, Spike was still horrified at observing how the loose locks lying on the ground were now pure white instead of their usual blond color.

Scrabbling backwards inch by inch, with every skeletal limb scarcely managing to be lifted while moving his wasted body, Spike nonetheless kept at his desperate crawl. Eventually, a tingling sensation ran through his right heel, which continued up both legs and then the rest of his torso. Regaining his strength, Spike lurched upwards onto his feet. Right after this, a new set of teeth burst into existence in the vampire's jaws, along with his cloudy sight returning to normal. Frantically patting at the top of his bare skull, Spike then felt under his fingers the sprouting hair replacing what he'd lost moments ago.

Sending a somewhat wild-eyed glance around, Spike noticed he was once again just beyond the city limits sign. Nervously backing up a few more yards, this demon stuttered out loud to himself, "What the hell was _that?_ There wasn't any damn warning at all! One second I was fine, and then two inches into this bleedin' town, I felt weak as a kitten! Like, like, I got-"

Stopping short in thunderstruck realization, Spike next whispered incredulously, "...older."

He gaped in absolute wonder at a tranquil farm town spread out in the dim moonlight, which possessed perhaps the most subtle supernatural trap Spike had ever come across. Somehow (due to magic or another inexplicable reason), should any vampire of an advanced age enter this locality, the spell which maintained this demon's body at the exact point of their previous human life in which they'd been turned would instantly fail. Moreover, the passing years which this vampire had previously avoided would immediately descend upon them, so they would suffer without relief all the pains and discomforts imparted to them by old age.

Spike shuddered in genuine dread. Just a minute or so ago, he'd been inflicted with the body of a man in his nineties, as if this former Londoner had never become a vampire and was forced to live the same length of years as the rest of humanity.

Prudently edging further away, Spike halted again as he finally understood why previous elder vampires who'd stumbled into the same trap and survived were notably reluctant to talk about it. Just like he'd keep his own damn mouth shut over the whole soddin' thing. First, it'd been so bloody humiliating, being such a dismal, feeble gaffer. That led to another of any master vampire's worse fears, of being rendered absolutely helpless until sunrise came and seared them into ashes.

Spike momentarily paused in his ruminations to allow himself a brief, happy fantasy of luring a certain poofter here and gloating at a safe distance over the resulting disintegration of that 221-year-old pillock with a soul. He soon sternly went back to the main reason why it was best to always keep mum about that appalling town.

Unfortunately, there was a specific type of blood-seeking demon who'd have absolutely no trouble with the temporal magic at this community. Any just-turned vampire (known as a fledgling) or even one who hadn't spent more than a decade or two at biting people's necks, would be perfectly fine in there, having the time of their unlives.

At that point, Spike scowled jealously while muttering in his most irascible tone, "Like hell! Those jumped-up sods can damn well find their own dinners without my help!"

Giving one last dirty look at the slumbering Illinois town, Spike spun on his heel and strode off into the night, leaving behind him the neighborhood known to its inhabitants as Gasoline Alley.

* * *

Author's Note: The American newspaper comic strip with the title of _Gasoline Alley_ is unique for two things. It's the second oldest strip still running (ever since 1918) and it also uses real-time continuity. That means for every day the weekly strip appears, a matching day takes place for the drawn characters. Naturally, these cartoon people take it for granted that time will pass for them just like it does for everyone else, without ever knowing there might be an exceedingly odd chronological manifestation for any supernatural person already frozen in time who decides to visit their town. This was what gave me the idea for how to give yet another written wedgie to Spike.


	17. August 17, 1912

Summary: It's a normal hazard of life in a big city, but as you would expect when it happens to Spike, it can't be anything other than amusingly excessive.

* * *

Sucking out with an actual impolite slurping noise the very last drop of blood from his victim, Spike removed his teeth from the neck of a still-warm corpse. The vampire then casually dropped the body onto the ground by a heap of garbage lining the London alley chosen for tonight's kill. Kicking some stray items of rubbish onto this man's limp form, Spike made sure while thoroughly hiding the newest evidence of a demon's atrocity that he didn't scratch or stain his new boots stolen several moments before from that dead bloke. In spite of everything, a proper gentleman took pride in his neat and tidy appearance at all times.

Once he'd made sure nobody would discover what's-his-name with the torn throat until he started stinking up even further the already fetid passageway, Spike's attention was suddenly caught by the increasing noise coming from a few streets over. It was the sound of a very large number of people gathered together, who hadn't been there a couple of minutes ago. Mildly intrigued at what would cause this abrupt assembly of humanity during sometime around midnight in the last half of August, Spike wandered towards the indicated direction to satisfy his curiosity.

To the vampire's surprise when he came to Regent Street, a big crowd of close to a thousand people nearly filled this avenue to capacity. All of these persons seemed to be in their most cheerful mood, with excited chattering and occasional shouts of "A procession! A procession!" being expressed by random participants in tonight's march through London. Glancing around, Spike saw at the forefront of the crowd four men being carried along the shoulders of their elated bearers.

Squinting at there, Spike didn't recognize any of those chaps who'd evidently just done something really impressive, judging by the sheer conviviality of the crowd. Well, it didn't matter all that much to Spike anyway, now that he'd found out what was going on. Turning to disappear back into the summer night, the undead demon paused at catching sight of one particularly odd-looking fellow being lightheartedly borne along by his volunteer porters.

That bloke there, his head twisted around to shout at the others in an action which fully showed his face, he looked exactly like one of those primitive chappies in the newspaper cartoons, all dressed in furs and carrying crude wooden clubs, as they'd been portrayed ever since Darwin proposed his theory of evolution. What were they called...? Oh, yes, a 'cave-man'.

Chuckling to himself, Spike then went off to seek some more vicious amusement. Eventually, this took him to Hyde Park. Strolling around in the dark there, the vampire assured himself that if only he kept looking, sooner or later he'd stumble across some couple taking furtive advantage of the privacy provided by the park's shielding greenery. Whether it was an amorous middle class lad and his lassie, or a businesslike lady of the evening and her customer, Spike would be more than happy to have fun with either type. Not that those unfortunate humans would find it very enjoyable, but who cared about what _they_ wanted?

Making his way along a graveled path towards one of the park's illuminated, newfangled electric lamps, Spike all of a sudden heard a truly strange swishing sound coming from overhead. Stopping short to glance up, not even a vampire's speedy reflexes were quick enough for Spike to do anything but have his eyes begin to widen in dawning horror at seeing what was descending directly at his uplifted visage.

_SPLAT!_

Reeling around while wrathfully combining frantic spitting, inarticulate threatening roars, and desperate wipes with both hands at his face, Spike finally scraped off from there enough of the newly-applied, white, sticky ooze reeking to high heaven of fish to behold who'd just done this to him. Standing there on the path while a supremely foul substance slowly dripped down his jacket, Spike nevertheless ignored this to gawk in sheer disbelief at the bizarre beast now perched atop the upper crosspiece of the park lamp.

It was some sort of a gigantic flying creature with enormous leathery wings presently wrapped around its body. There wasn't the slightest sign of any feathers covering that thing, just bare, greyish scales from head to the talons gripping the lamp crosspiece. A lengthy beak overtopped by two glowing red eyes unblinkingly regarding Spike made up the rest of this fantastic animal.

The motionless standoff between this pair of unearthly beings was soon ended by the winged creature bobbing its head once, and then giving a harsh, rasping caw sounding suspiciously like genuine derision. Right after this, it jumped off the park lamp, unfurling its wings in mid-air, and swooped down low to one side away from Spike. Giving several vigorous strokes of its upper limbs covered by the extended skin there, the flying creature soon gained enough altitude to rise up and disappear into the night sky.

Watching all this in utter incredulity, Spike shook himself out of his daze far too late to reach down to the gravel path, pick up a handy stone, and vindictively chuck it at that soddin' strange bird who'd just shit all over him! All the fuming vampire could do was to shake an incensed fist into the direction of where that damn thing had vanished, flying someplace to the west.

Spike's bad mood wasn't improved at all either by glancing down at the putrid guano beginning to harden all over his body. He promptly groaned in despair, "Bleedin' hell, if any demon I know sees me like this - or even catches a whiff of it - I'll never live this down! There's no choice; I'll just have to take a quick dip in the Serpentine, and then lie low somewhere well away for a while."

Grumbling to himself, Spike set off at once to accomplish that hurried strategy. He soon became lost in the August darkness, and the vampire indeed successfully carried out the plan quickly conceived by him. Making a hasty departure from London, Spike spent the next several weeks hiding elsewhere in England until he was quite sure there weren't any rumors among the local supernatural community about a certain fiend's hilarious encounter with the damned biggest ever plucked pigeon evacuating its bowels directly onto that unlucky prat's head.

During all this, Spike never thought to read the London newspapers, so he missed the stories there about Professor Challenger and the expedition to South America in which this scientist and his associates eventually brought back evidence of their adventures at what was soon called 'The Lost World.' Alas, during the evening lecture in this city where the good professor thoroughly routed all of his detested critics and as a result was carried off in triumph by the crowd, the only living example of a genuine pterodactyl escaped back into the wild.

In the process of its flight from captivity, that same winged dinosaur soaring over London also showed that the instinct for every avian to unerringly target with their plunging poop those land-bound dirt grubbers has been staunchly handed down from the Cretaceous Period to just after the Edwardian Era.


	18. August 18, 1949

Summary: One warm summer evening, Spike's stopover at a Southern California city was suddenly interrupted by what sounded like nothing less than a small war breaking out nearby in a certain industrial area.

* * *

*Another night, another murder,* Spike cheerfully thought to himself while he riffled through the dollar bills taken from the wallet previously owned by the dead man lying at his feet. Regarding with genuine satisfaction the thick wad of cash he'd lifted from his latest kill, the vampire went on to muse, *Must be payday, eh?*

Tossing the wallet now empty of its contents (except for a few family photographs he'd contemptuously skimmed through a moment earlier) onto the face-down corpse in the deserted alley behind a row of seedy bars, pawnshops, and other cheap businesses, Spike stuffed the money into his pants pocket and he sauntered away down the narrow back street. His most recent robbery/homicide had just turned out far better than Spike had expected, given the squalid Long Beach neighborhood he was passing through tonight.

Shrugging, Spike idly thought that only those who couldn't afford anywhere better would want to live and work here at their worthless homes and shops in this really ugly part of town, right next to a massive oil refinery. That factory for processing petroleum into gasoline and other fuels seemed to be working around the clock, given the harsh odors drifting the vampire's way in the night-time breeze. Sending one last casual glance at the row of enormous steel spheres a mere few hundred yards away used to store the refinery's products, with these tanks looming ominously over everything else in the vicinity, Spike kept walking along the alley. A few more blocks on and he'd cut out into the main avenue and flag down a taxi to somewhere else a lot nicer. Maybe up south to Malibu; he'd quite enjoy dropping in on one of the beautiful movie actresses living there-

In a drumroll of violence, numerous gunshots rang out, with every bit of that racket coming from deeper inside the oil refinery.

Stopping dead in his tracks, Spike gaped in the direction from where this unexpected din had originated. Not that he could actually see anything, what with both the immense gas tanks and also the much closer shop buildings making up the rear alley back wall blocking Spike's view. When even more firearms went off, the undead demon next heard surprised shouts coming from the next street over from both the pedestrians and bar occupants there who'd come out to find out just what was going on.

Spike damned well wanted to know too, seeing how any second now, someone might come out in the alley back there and literally trip over his latest kill. Sending a truly nasty glare at those unknown sods over there who'd messed up a nice, quiet homicide, the irritated vampire decided it was well past time for him to beat a prudent retreat as far away as possible. Beginning to edge further down the narrow lane, Spike abruptly halted in this while he again watched in absolute astonishment something even more bizarre happening now.

On top of one of the gas tanks, a man had just climbed up there using the attached spiral steel stairway. He was standing with his back turned to an unliving Englishman about a half-mile away. Only a vampire's exceptional vision could've seen more than a flicker of motion through the darkness, but Spike had no trouble watching everything which came next.

A rifle barked, and the man atop the tank staggered at being struck by that weapon's deadly round. Recovering an instant later, this injured bloke held out the handgun he was gripping in his right hand. Showing no hesitation at all, the wounded man fired several bullets directly downwards into the metal skin of a storage container holding vast quantities of volatile gasoline. A split second after this, flames erupted from around the man still in his upright posture and about to burn to death in moments. This doomed fellow nevertheless showed off all the while an air of actual gleeful triumph easily discernible even by Spike so far away.

It was at that point when Spike started running. Unfortunately, he only managed to cover a few dozen yards before night turned into full day, and his sprinting body was picked up and hurled ahead by a searing blast wave. Feeling the back of his clothes start to catch on fire, Spike was still unable to do anything but lie on his stomach in the alley, hands protectively clapped over his skull, while the rest of the gas tanks exploded.

Finally, it was over. Tottering onto his feet, a scorched-black demon limped off among the ruins of a destroyed neighborhood. Ignoring the screams and moans of others caught in the devastation around him, Spike wonderingly muttered out loud, "What the hell was all _that_ about?"

It really was a pity that Spike never got a chance to see Cody Jarrett's face in that other man's final seconds of life when he'd yelled out his victory taunt. Of course, even if the vampire had managed to do this, Spike simply didn't have the lip-reading skills to make out a psychopath's last exultant "Made it, Ma! Top of the world!"

* * *

Author's Note: The crossover is of course _White Heat, _including James Cagney's incredible portrayal of a homicidal lunatic totally obsessed with his departed mother.


	19. August 19, 1978

Summary: Even the most vicious vampire ever (or so he claims) sometimes has his prey stolen and devoured by a far more dangerous predator. Fine, Spike could tolerate that, but not something else which afterwards sent him into an immense fit of the sulks.

* * *

Standing at the end of the boat dock stretching out into the small river somewhere in the American South, Spike sent his most fiendish grin at where the college-age couple he'd come across tonight were having their fun in the middle of this waterway dimly lit up by the half-moon overhead. Unaware of the monster hungrily observing them from about twenty yards away in the gloom, a young man and his fiancée gleefully splashed their intended, ducking under the river's surface and then popping up to send sprays of liquid at the surprised other. Both swimmers moved with an easy grace around in the water, which was only natural since they'd left all their clothes on the dock to go skinny-dipping in complete privacy. Or so they thought.

Casually nudging with his boot toe a woman's discarded 1970's-style short dress lying in a crumpled heap upon the dock planks, Spike sniffed with his heightened sense of smell at the delicious aromas drifting upwards from the clothes of a female human in the prime of her life. Which wasn't going to last all that much longer, not when Spike got through with snacking upon the only people he'd managed to find so far after irritably stalking without success for hours through this backwards rural area.

*Right,* a now-cheerful Spike thought to himself. *Ten, fifteen minutes more at the most, and then they'll swim back here.*

He looked over his shoulder to cast a considering eye at the bushes which lined the riverbank on either side of the dock. *Wait behind there, do the usual ambush when those two walk by, and then it's dinner time!*

Without any warning at all, desperate screams of terror and agony suddenly split the night, coming from directly in front of Spike.

Snapping his head around, the vampire stared in his absolute astonishment at the churning water where just moments ago it'd been the spot where two people were joyfully bobbing around in the river. The first thing to come to mind for Spike was that one of the bathers had abruptly gotten a muscle cramp and went helplessly under, followed in turn by a horrified rescuer.

Spike's reasoning was at once proven wrong by the still-roiling water unexpectedly changing from a mostly clear liquid into a reddish color which the vampire was more than familiar with, thank you very much. Continuing to gape in shock, Spike made a hasty inhalation of the night breeze coming his way, and he smelt an equally-accustomed odor of fresh-spilled blood!

In the very next second, Spike leapt forwards off the dock without actually thinking about it. Of course, he changed his mind right in mid-jump over doing that, but unlike all those stupid horror novels and movies from Stoker on, there was no soddin' way this English vampire could change into a bat and fly back to the dock. So, Spike hit the water with a tremendous splash and sank like a stone to the bottom of the river.

He managed to spew out in a gust of bubbles several particularly vile curses about the whole idiotic situation on the way down, with Spike shutting up only because he didn't want to breathe in any water. Not that this would harm even more an already-extinct corpse, but it was a damn pain in the arse to later get rid of what would otherwise do nothing but slosh around in his inactive lungs.

Just when his boots landed upon the muddy floor of the river, a dark cloud sent downstream by the stream's current enveloped Spike. In his half-open mouth, the blond demon tasted what he'd been ravenously looking forwards to for the last couple of minutes, only without being diluted by an entire watercourse!

Reverting to the sheer rage which had sent him hurtling off the dock moments ago, Spike half-swam, half-trudged in his fury through the water towards the couple he'd earlier marked as his and nobody else's prey. He certainly wasn't on his way to _help_ them, not buggering likely.

Glaring through the murky water which was filled with innumerable flecks of plant matter and grains of floating soil, even Spike's normally keen vision was defeated by this suspended haze. Only his ears worked fine, guiding him to where the dreadful sounds were coming from of teeth ripping and tearing at a pair of human bodies being feasted upon tonight.

These horrific noises ended just before Spike reached the spot where they'd been originating from for the last few seconds. Coming to an abrupt halt, Spike wildly glanced around in his utter confusion. He couldn't find any trace whatsoever in the encompassing water of what should be here: the dead people, their attackers, or even the slightest scrap of leftovers from where an unknown assailant had been hard at work chewing away at Spike's planned repast.

Absently taking a few strides about in a half-circle to unavailingly continue his search, Spike was facing downstream when his right foot all of a sudden landed on what wasn't even more mud, but something which solidly went _crunch!_ under his boot. Looking down in surprise, the vampire saw he'd just stepped onto a human thighbone.

Spike's gaze then slowly scanned the rest of the river bottom by his feet. He saw lying there the scattered remains of two complete skeletons, all stripped completely of flesh, organs, and other edible tissue. They were not only polished clean, but deep toothmarks also scored every inch of those bones.

Observing a flicker of motion at the topmost part of his line of sight, Spike looked up, and he then froze absolutely stock-still.

Floating just a foot from his face, one hell of a very scary fish was meeting the vampire's gaze with an expression of blank murder displayed on its own piscine features. Moreover, there was something else borne by that strange animal which was making Spike stay as motionless as possible-

A hundred or so of that fish's friends lazily swam up from behind it, to hover there in place among the sluggish current with identical flicks of their tails and fins keeping them in position. They next all in unison opened their mouths and gills to begin sensing if what was before them was one of two things: Prey or Not-Prey.

It had moved on its own, and it appeared to be the same general shape of what they'd earlier gorged upon in their never-ending hunger. That made it Prey.

However, the longer the fish gestalt investigated this, more evidence began to tilt the scales the other way. Their potential kill hadn't bestirred itself at all since they'd started watching this. Too, it gave off no scent of fresh meat nor did it have a beating heart. That made it...

Not-Prey.

As if obeying the same unheard command, every single one of the bio-engineered piranhas created years earlier in a secret government lab as a Vietnam war-era experimental project turned around in the water and propelled themselves down the river, soon vanishing into the distance. Without a doubt, there'd be more food for them further on. A _lot_ more.

Several minutes later, in which a carefully-swimming Spike dreaded every second during this at having his lily-white arse chomped off in a single savage bite, the sopping-wet vampire stood again on the boat dock. Sullenly admitting there seemed to be at present no other recourse but to find the nearest cow and sup upon that mooing beast, Spike then and there vamped into game face while in this demon's supreme bad mood.

Pausing to touch with his tongue the razor-sharp teeth which filled his entire mouth, Spike's self-pitying annoyance over what was really pissing him off now burst out loud into the night air with a snarled whine, "Those damn little fishies had bigger fangs than _me!_

* * *

Author's Note: Those mutant Pygocentrus of the 1978 horror movie directed by Joe Dante and known as _Piranha_ are the subject of this crossover.


	20. August 20, 1966

Summary: Irresistible to every woman! Consulted by world leaders! More powerful than the Devil! So, naturally, Spike decides one summer night to harass none other than this awesome individual...

* * *

There were times when Spike seriously considered the vegetarian option.

Like right now, for instance. He was lurking tonight in a city park at some boring Connecticut suburban neighborhood, with his tummy hungrily rumbling at a famished intensity that demanded it be filled immediately with fresh, warm blood. Ordinarily, Spike had no problem whatsoever with this...except at present, the only prey waddling into sight was an obese meal on swollen legs which would've easily won top prize at any demon gathering for sheer unappetizing awfulness.

From his concealed position behind a thick bush, Spike peered through the foliage in growing revulsion at what was coming nearer down the sidewalk. It was a little boy-

On second thought, the vampire inwardly corrected himself, that young pudge there could be described as a boy, but he bloody well wasn't 'little'. From tiny feet to a globular head resting upon negligible shoulders without the benefit of any neck in between, this supremely fat kid's oval torso dressed in a white long-sleeved shirt buttoned up to the tight collar, tie, extra-size belt, blue pants and good shoes perfectly resembled a short but enormous egg set onto its base.

Just as horrible in Spike's opinion was the face of a child who definitely should've been drowned at birth. From a block away, the undead Englishman wincingly regarded a flabby countenance set in utter impassivity even while sucking with unvarying monotony onto some sort of sweet attached to the end of a small stick tightly gripped in one hand. Holding the dwindling lollipop deep inside his mouth, the boy dully stared ahead with half-lidded eyes through a pair of black glasses possessing circular rims while he steadily toddled onwards under the streetlamps lining the sidewalk. This nighttime illumination cast actual gleams onto the slicked-down hair cut in an absurd style of a bowl placed upside-down on the lad's head and any locks extending past the bowl's rim swiftly trimmed away.

All in all, Spike decided a nice salad with balsamic vinaigrette dressing was looking better and better.

From this vampire's starving stomach, an actual dangerous growl escaped, reminding Spike he had no choice. Like it or not, a former human born in London just over a century ago was now a supernatural creature of darkness who regularly consumed the lifeblood of his victims. Even when in a minute hence, this meant Spike was probably going to have to sink his fangs through several inches of pure fat to get to a chubby lad's jugular vein. If he could even _find_ that specific blood vessel in a non-existent neck, mind you.

*Right, no rest for the wicked,* resignedly thought Spike. *Clout him when he comes by, drag him back in here, and then get on with it. What's the odds he'll be topped up with so much sugar that I'm going to risk serious cavities just for biting him?*

Soon after, as the dumpy boy went past a certain bush, a clenched fist moving with incredible speed shot out from the interior of that shrub. With immense force, Spike's blow smashed into the side of this youngster's head.

In turn, that victim simply kept on walking, without showing the slightest effect from or even responding to the vampire's deadliest punch. A few steps further on, though, a fractional tilting of his head in thought was made by the unruffled boy. As a result, what next came was the removal of the lollipop for an absent-minded, terse utterance by him of, "Mosquito...?"

Back in his bush, Spike was going "_Nnnnnngggggggg!_" while vibrating in place during his lengthy whimper of anguish. He was also staring in absolute horror at his still-extended arm. More particularly, at the end of this limb which now possessed a lump of mushy flesh that just several moments ago been an intact right hand now consisting of all twenty-seven bones in there reduced to a bunch of devastated splinters.

The next couple of minutes had Spike occupied in trying to walk it off while simultaneously preventing himself from screaming out loud in his absolute agony. Eventually, the vampire's supernatural healing fixed up his hand somewhat close to normal, at which point Spike dashed off to terminally deal with the little shite who'd just humiliated him.

That same overweight, underage person had by then reached the far end of the block occupied by the local park. Turning his head to check for cross traffic, the corpulent boy incuriously watched a strange man burst out from the bushes lining the sidewalk to his right. This unfamiliar person then ran up to the youngster again single-mindedly sucking on his lollipop, and stopped in front of somebody known to his family and neighbors as Herbie Popnecker.

Not that a furious Spike cared the least bit about the absurd name of his soon-to-be-slaughtered victim. Instead, he pointed a finger quivering in pure ire at that ill-fated lad and Spike snarled down into an expressionless countenance, "I don't know how the hell you shrugged off my best wallop, but I'm still going to tear your- _Quit slurping on your damn sweet when I'm threatening you!_"

Unhurriedly removing that mentioned confection from his mouth, Herbie held it up by the spherical candy's slim stick while asking in a vacuous monotone: "This one?"

"YES!" bellowed Spike.

Herbie slowly shook his head. "Cinnamon flavor. Rare. Hard to get. Go away, or I bop you with this here lollipop."

Spike was actually taken aback for a moment by that calm response to his intimidating presence, until the vampire's already fragile grip on his seething temper promptly disintegrated. Letting out a roar of full-blown rage, Spike savagely swung a hand at the boy's fingers still holding the lollipop. After he knocked that piece of candy to the ground, Spike was going to murder this pint-sized freak as painfully as possible-

Ten seconds later, Herbie tossed over a shoulder with outright ease the broken body of his attacker, of which the child had been viciously hammering upon the ground with his left hand gripping the ankle of this defeated foe. It took an appreciable while before the soft _thud!_ sound of the sniveling mugger's landing came from much deeper inside the park. Once that was done, an untouched Herbie wholly dismissed from his mind the latest encounter with a particularly inept adversary. For all the 'little fat nothing' (as he was always grouchily referred to by his unsuspecting father) cared, this most recent opponent could just crawl away on his own to find medical help.

Replacing the cinnamon lollipop back into his mouth, Herbie let an atypical flash of genuine pleasure cross his normally deadpan face. Happily sucking on his delicious treat, the most formidable boy on earth then took a step off the sidewalk curb out into the road.

Continuing to walk in mid-air a few inches above the street asphalt, young Mr. Popnecker nonchalantly resumed his interrupted journey tonight to his home.

* * *

Author's Note: It's true. Every…single…word. Herbie, who was written and drawn from 1958 to 1967 for American Comics Group by Richard E. Hughes and Ogden Whitney, has got to be among the most surrealistic characters in the funny books. See Wikipedia for an actual picture of Herbie Popnecker plus further infomation concerning besides the invulnerability, super-strength, and limited power of flight, there's also the hypnotic eyes, ability to talk with animals, and traveling through time...

Oh, and a secret identity as the costumed hero known to his adoring public by the intrepid name of the Fat Fury. One look at Herbie's outfit, and you'll never think the same way ever again about a toilet plunger.


	21. August 21, 1956

Summary: In between his own atrocities, Spike always considered the theory that an evil nature could be inherited to be a complete load of rubbish. What did it matter to the victims, anyway? Then one night, Spike encountered a psychopathic child...

* * *

In her bright yellow rain slicker, Rhoda Penmark determinedly strode through the town's deserted streets sometime after midnight. The little girl had just sneaked out of the local hospital where her foster mother and this adopted child had been taken to after the despairing older woman attempted an unsuccessful murder/suicide for them both. These horrific events had as their cause the dreadful information learned over the past few days by a distraught Christine Penmark that Rhoda was not only the natural daughter of an executed female serial killer, but also the innocent-seeming youngster had already murdered three people in cold blood.

Not that her gruesome crimes bothered Rhoda the slightest. Far more important to this pigtailed girl than all the tiresome fuss about to be made by the grown-ups was the penmanship medal unfairly given to one of her summer schoolmates instead of a furious Rhoda. Well, Claude didn't get to enjoy his medal for long, not when Rhoda made sure of this by drowning that boy in a city park lake and stealing the award.

Traveling along the night-time sidewalks, Rhoda regretfully considered her mistakes. Oh, no, not killing Claude. He deserved it! That medal was hers! But when she'd taken this prize off the body of her latest fatality, the wisest thing to do would've been to hide it a bit better from her mother. Christine's discovery of the penmanship medal had eventually ended with the exposure of Rhoda's first murder at their previous home, another murder committed just yesterday of their apartment building's janitor when he'd guessed what happened to Claude, and then the now-unbalanced mother's failure to make amends for what her homicidal child had done.

Crossing a street, Rhoda huffed angrily to herself. Mama had no right to take away the medal, and even worse, throw it in the lake right at the spot where Claude drowned! Now she needed to go look for it in the middle of the night, with a big thunderstorm coming in. Well, at least the bad weather would keep anyone from seeing her in this search.

Nodding in approval at viewing the small lake which was her goal just a block or so ahead, Rhoda picked up the pace a little. She was utterly obsessed with her plans for regaining the treasured medal. So much, in fact, that this blonde girl missed entirely the fact a man with hair the same pale shade as hers was casually strolling along a few hundred feet behind on the sidewalk.

Licking his lips to catch the last stray drop of blood on these, Spike tossed away the drained medical bottle into a handy bush. The demon underground had been spot-on about the hospital back there. Come in at the right instance by the correct basement door, pay up as you went, and the whole bloomin' blood bank was open for business, just in time to settle a vampire's empty stomach. Of course, with one appetite satisfied, another was demanding it be swiftly fulfilled by the scrumptious little morsel up ahead.

He had no idea why this kiddy was wandering outside tonight when it looked about to rain buckets at any moment. Nor did Spike particularly care, either. All it mattered was the upcoming storm with lightning already flickering several miles away was sure to cover up the terrified screams of William the Bloody's next kill.

Continuing to follow after his latest prey, Spike in due course stopped to lean against the trunk of a lakeside tree while he bemusedly observed the little girl poke around at the wharf she'd ventured onto a moment before. Hidden in the shadows cast by the canopy of leaves above him, the vampire kept on watching for a minute or two while that kiddy then picked up a boathook lying atop the dock floor and started to use it to thoroughly probe below the surface of the park lake.

At length growing bored, Spike stepped away from the tree and advanced towards the wharf. He glanced up at the inky clouds about to let loose in full their entire load of rain, to next bring down his gaze to study where the kiddy still hadn't noticed him while busy in her strange task. The vampire mentally smirked, *Right, see if you can get up close enough to grab her unawares, then show little miss why she should've stayed snug in her bed tonight.*

It wasn't until Spike reached the foot of the wharf and next actually marched onto it, that Rhoda caught sight out of the corner of her eye the presence of another person close by. Snapping her head around while still crouched upon her knees on the dock, the young murderess stared in genuine surprise at who'd just joined Rhoda.

It was a guy she'd never seen before, standing there in a long jacket and a bare head with short blond hair being ruffled by the growing wind. He clearly knew she was regarding him, but the man didn't say anything right away. Instead, this stranger just gave her a really big, nasty smile-

A split second later, his face then turned into an authentic monster mask of warped features, glowing yellow eyes, and long fangs.

Her entire body freezing in primal fear, Rhoda couldn't do anything but stay crouched down while she speechlessly watched this thing from her worse nightmares take a nonchalant step forward to block any possible chance of escape past him.

Inwardly gloating, Spike sauntered to where the petrified kiddy was awaiting him. Just another moment more and it wouldn't matter if she came to her senses by making a last-second try in escaping her doom by jumping into the lake away from the vampire. He was already near enough so that a quick grab would-

Far too swiftly for even Spike with his demonic reflexes to effectively react, all of his skin prickled with energy, every strand of hair on his head stood straight up, and the whole world went white.

Spike came to lying on his back, his ears reverberating with the last echoes of the tremendous thunderclap booming over the lake. Blinking past the fading black spots in his vision, he painfully lifted his upper body by his elbows. Spike then gaped ahead in sheer disbelief over his burned torso at the smoking crater blasted in the wood dock, along with the other results there of the recent massive lightning strike.

Painfully rolling over and then staggering onto his feet, a nearly scorched-bald Spike got off the wharf and headed with a lurching gait towards the shelter of the shoreline trees from the curtain of heavy rain already approaching across the lake. He didn't bother looking back since there really wasn't any point. Furthermore, Spike had never cared very much for fried food.

* * *

Author's Note: Yes, that's really how the 1956 movie ends, albeit without Spike's presence. Apparently, despite how the original novel and Broadway play had a categorically differing conclusion (Rhoda lives and Christine dies), it was felt by the Hays Office in charge of movie censorship at the time that 'crime shouldn't pay', so the Warner Brothers studio who made the movie had to come up with the proper punishment from on high. Even more bizarre is the very last part of _The Bad Seed_, which you just have to see for yourself.

P.S.: That specific date for Spike's latest fiasco was chosen as a minor in-joke having to do with the movie. There's a free, completely imaginary, electronic chocolate chip cookie for the first reviewer to correctly guess the reason. Have fun!


	22. August 22, 1936

Summary: Yes, he inhaled.

* * *

All Spike did was to walk down the bloody street.

The next thing he knew, a sonorous voice coming from out of nowhere spoke right into his ear, "Observe this upstanding young man with his entire life ahead of him-"

"_What the hell?!_" Spike blurted out, frantically spinning around on the deserted night-time sidewalk in search of whomever had just managed to sneak up on him. Except, as already noted, there was nobody at all within sight anywhere in Spike's vicinity.

The vampire made another slow full turn on his feet, giving the entire quiet and peaceful neighborhood a very mistrustful glower. Spike's current location, a somewhat run-down street with cheap apartment buildings lining both sides of this avenue, looked like a thousand other places late tonight in the American northeast trying to get through the Great Depression. People living here right now were in the main fast asleep in their apartment beds and dreaming of hopefully better times in the future.

No, wait a second... Spike's head turned to one particular apartment a few doors up, which had its front window shades shut tight. There was still an evident glow from the lamps inside this residence, along with gleeful laughter and other sounds of loud jazz music and enthusiastic dancing. To the vampire's heightened senses, all of this indicated some sort of party or other festive gathering was going on in there at the moment with more than a few people having a lot of fun tonight.

Spike licked his lips. Come to think of it, a bite to eat would be nice. He took a single step forward-

"Alas," intoned the same resonant voice coming from thin air. "The lure of the den of iniquity just ahead has unfortunately caught this naive youth's attention."

Now really annoyed, Spike cursed under his breath, "Dammit! Who's there?!" He glared about in all directions, still without any luck whatsoever in locating the mysterious narrator. In the middle of this, Spike's irritated face abruptly altered into actual interest. He meditatively repeated, "Den of iniquity, eh?"

Cautiously taking another step towards that indicated apartment, Spike hesitated before giving a bemused shrug when this didn't provoke another dramatic declaration. He kept walking onwards, easily following the noises from his just-chosen destination. Soon enough, Spike found himself in front of the apartment's door. Giving a tentative sniff, the undead Englishman let an extremely sardonic grin cross his visage. Judging from how strong the pungent smell he was getting from inside there, it was a wonder that heavy wisps of smoke weren't curling out from the edges of the door.

As if that thought alone had been a signal, the imaginary voice then started sadly proclaiming, "Another poor soul is on the brink of losing every bit of decency they possess to what's lying in wait for them just beyond. But, it's not too late! If only they'd come to their senses and turn away from the dangers of what's termed as the demon weed, a vile element called cannabis but more familiarly known to all too many destroyed families by the dreadful name of...MARIJUANA!"

Wandering through the fragrant haze hanging in the air of his and Mae's apartment, Jack took a deep puff of his thick, hand-rolled cigarette lacking any trace of tobacco within it. He beamed around at the place packed full of satiated underage high school partiers, most of which had been personally enticed into their drug use by this man living in sin with Mae. Beginning to lift his joint for another hit, Jack blinked at the sudden sounds of a raucous argument going on past the front door.

Too hopped-up to be anything other than mildly interested by this, Jack went over to open the door and see who was late for tonight's party. He did this just in time to get an earful of "Shut your soddin' cakehole, you make-believe wanker!" from a blond man standing at the now-ajar threshold and bestowing upon an astonished Jack an exceptionally nasty look.

A second later, that stranger reached out and snatched from Jack's fingers the marijuana reefer slackly held there. Bringing this addictive substance to his lips, someone which Jack had never seen before in his life now ferociously inhaled, reducing the entire cigarette into ashes with one single lungful of air.

There was a brief pause among the pair at the door, while the party in the apartment went on unnoticed behind these two men. Then, the newcomer had a blissful look appear on his handsome face. He amiably remarked, "Fine stuff there, mate. You got any more?"

Brightening up at the prospect of a new customer, Jack nodded. He went on to say, "Yeah, mister, the first sample's on the house, but it'll cost you a few bucks for another one of those. If you can pay, you can stay."

At this unexpected rhyme from Jack, both men shared a delighted giggle, before the stranger good-naturedly announced while he reached into a pants pocket and then displayed the handful of dollar bills he'd just pulled out from there, "Not a problem, see? Now, my name's Spike, and I'm here to smoke some weed!"

A couple of hours later, the party was mostly over. All of the juveniles busily working on their latest delinquencies had staggered home earlier, leaving behind only Jack, Mae who'd passed out in the bedroom, and Ralph, one of Jack's fellow dealers. Those merchants of mary jane were counting up the money they'd made tonight in thoroughly corrupting the community's youngsters when Ralph jerked a thumb towards a far corner of the living room. There, a seated man in an out-and-out stupor didn't react at all to this gesture directed at him.

"Who's the new guy?" inquired Ralph about the individual occupying an armchair while blankly staring at the half-consumed cigarette cupped in his right hand.

Jack shrugged. "Somebody called Sid or Slick, I forget which. Who cares? He put away more dope than anyone else I've ever met, and best of all, he paid cash on the barrelhead for it."

Stepping away from Ralph, Jack then headed over to what's-his-name and stopped in front of the man in his chair. Leaning forward to wave a hand in front of a most unfocused gaze, Jack cheerfully told him, "Listen, fella, time for you to leave. You're always welcome to drop by when we have another party, as long as you've got the money ready. C'mon, up on your feet. I'll help you out the door."

A minute or so later, Spike looked down to entrancedly watch his boots rise and fall while he lurched down the street. Among all this, the vampire had a niggling concern trying to break through the really dense marijuana miasma blurring his mind. Squinting around the slowly-brightening neighborhood, Spike at length dismissed the sense of subconscious peril desperately trying to attract his attention.

Ahead of Spike now facing due east, the morning clouds on the horizon broke apart to reveal the rising sun, with the rays of this glowing orb flashing right at the vulnerable vampire.

"_Aaaaahhhhhhh!_"

With his exposed flesh beginning to smoke, a screaming Spike hastily scuttled into the nearest alley with its shielding shadows. Continuing his desperate search for some protection from the sun's deadly light, this now-sober English demon dove right into a handy garbage pile. With frantic sweeps of his arms, he entirely buried himself at the bottom of this reeking heap of refuse.

Just at the point when he was completely hidden from sight, a thankful Spike felt his seared skin starting to recover. However, at the same time, a smugly satisfied voice spoke into a singed ear: "And now, this contemptible wrongdoer must face the consequences of his actions. Just as he's presently wallowing in the filth of what other people have thrown away, his ruined life which is all due to the reckless use of marijuana now mirrors the spoiled chances and opportunities to be a fine, upstanding citizen."

"YOU-!" began Spike's indignant roar, only for him to hurriedly clamp his mouth shut in sullen silence. All he needed at this point was for some curious resident or policeman on his beat to investigate the angry retorts coming from under a rubbish tip. The appalled vampire then understood that he was stuck here until nightfall, _and_ that toffee-nosed bastard somehow lecturing him wasn't going to pass this chance up!

Indeed, the patronizing voice began again. "As you can see, ladies and gentlemen, the horrible results of such an immoral substance as cannabis should be a warning to everyone, particularly our children. They, above all, must be protected from the poison that is illicit drugs! Which leads us to my next topic, how to safeguard the next generation from the loathsome temptations of marijuana. Please make yourselves comfortable; this shouldn't take longer than a couple of hours."

*I'm going to hunt that pillock down,* mentally vowed Spike slumping with increasing gloom on his back inside the garbage pile while the other voice in his head continued to drone on and on. *If it takes every bit of magic I can buy, threaten, or torture some bloody witch or mage into casting, that's fine! Just so as long as it works!*

* * *

A short while later, Dr. Alfred Carroll came to the end of his filmed lecture to a PTA meeting. This distinguished-looking high school principal making his appearance on the silver screen then pointed at random parents in the audience while portentously warning them, "The next tragedy may be that of your daughter's…or your son's…or yours, or yours…" finishing off with extending his finger directly at the camera filming him, "…or YOURS!"

In the very next second, an incredible being came rushing from off-screen into view of the camera. This man-like creature had a ridged face, glowing yellow eyes, and bestial fangs. From among those razor-sharp teeth came a triumphant bellow, "All right, you sanctimonious bastard, it's finally time for you to die, but most important, to soddin' shut up!"

At that point, the camera was dropped onto the auditorium floor, catching on film from then on only a scene of stampeding feet as the crowd for tonight's lecture ran for their own lives. What did get captured were the horrific sounds of murder being done by Spike the vampire, who well afterwards lit up with immense satisfaction and bloodstained fingers to then puff away at the fattest reefer ever rolled.

* * *

Author's Note: And the crossover is _Reefer Madness,_ of course.


	23. August 23, 1987

Summary: Believe it or not, Spike was rich once - until he met a certain lawyer in Boston.

* * *

Shifting irritably on the hard chair at the defendant's table in a city courtroom late one night, Spike inwardly groused, *That damn lottery ticket, if I'd know how much trouble it was going to be, I'd have tossed away the stupid thing!*

* * *

However, several weeks ago when Spike went through the wallet he'd lifted from his latest victim in a Boston alley, the vampire noticed among the money there a recently-sold Massachusetts lottery ticket. In his next visit to an after-hours convenience store for a pack of fags, on an idle whim Spike handed over the ticket to be checked by the store clerk. Only for an astonished demon to then learn he possessed the winning ticket for a few million bucks!

Spike's ecstatic thoughts of buying entire blood banks, bedding every demon bint at the swankiest supernatural brothel in Las Vegas, and other gleeful plans for blowing his lovely loot as fast as possible were soon dampened by the practical difficulties of collecting his newfound cash. For one, the lottery people would definitely want to know why their latest winner couldn't pick this up until well after dark. That glum realization soon led Spike to the Boston offices of Wolfram & Hart, where a deal was quickly worked out. In return for a good cut of his winnings (after taxes, obviously), the malevolent law firm would arrange for a discreet transfer of funds to the vampire. The attorney assigned to Spike, some constipated bloke named Effingham, assured his latest client it wouldn't take more than a few days.

When this finally happened, an eager Spike accepted the still-sizable check then handed to him and started to get to his feet from the chair he'd been using in the attorney's office. Hearing the hasty clearing of Effingham's throat, Spike sat down again, to stare with bafflement at the sheet of paper shoved towards him over the lawyer's desktop.

This was accompanied by Effingham's apologetic statement, "Er, I'm afraid you've just been served."

"_WHAT!?_" roared Spike, jumping straight up to loom over Effingham behind his desk wincing at the sheer volume of that infuriated yell.

The lawyer then nervously explained to an enraged Spike, "Yes, a subpoena's been issued ordering you to face charges in court about libelously claiming a certain entertainer stole his look from you. This would be-"

"I know damned well who he is!" gritted the vampire.

An indignant Spike further continued, "And why's that little prick complaining about this now? It isn't like I haven't mentioned it a lot of times before to other demons, what with him touring for years as my near lookalike!"

Effingham pensively glanced up at the ceiling, considering how to best put it. The lawyer soon murmured, "Ah, I believe the legal papers sent to us mentioned something about 'being unable to squeeze blood from a stone.' The recent news of a substantial windfall altering your previous destitution-"

Again, Spike interrupted with an angry bellow, "I KNEW IT!"

He fixed Effingham with a vindictive look, growling, "All right, who's the bastard responsible for this? Just give me his name, and that'll be the end of it when I hunt the berk down! For him, I'll break out my old kit I haven't touched in years, the railroad spikes made nice and pointy for when I shove them-"

"Absolutely not!" sharply interjected Effingham, cutting off Spike in mid-rant.

The composed lawyer went on at his client's disbelieving stare that anyone would dare interrupt William the Bloody. "There's a much easier way of dealing with everything, sir. If you're truly confident that they can't make their case-"

"Damn right they can't!"

"Well, then, let's go to court to prove this. Even better, winning there will be in a demonic jurisdiction, not the human one, so afterwards if you like, you can eat the losers consisting of the prosecuting attorney and his client. Making it even better, the advocate just graduated from law school, and this is his very first case taken to court for his firm! It'll be a perfect slaughter when I cut him to pieces - metaphorically, that is. You can do it for real, then." Effingham finished off this latter statement with a truly wicked smirk.

Spike himself vamped out into game face, to then jovially rumble past his bared fangs, "Now you're talking, mate! So, how do we go about it, eh?"

Effingham blandly suggested, "First, let's discuss my fee again..."

* * *

A few nights later, Spike was in a Boston courtroom inhabited at present by only himself, Effingham in the other chair at the defendant's table, and the judge seated at his bench. This court officer's eyes were closed as if the black-robed man was quietly dozing.

After wriggling around in his hard chair in a futile attempt to find a comfortable spot on it, Spike doubtfully whispered to his lawyer, "Oi, what's up with that bloke? He smells pure human, not demon."

Without looking up from the legal papers he was flipping through, Effingham answered equally quietly, "Don't worry, Judge Ming is a wizard and quite familiar with the supernatural world. On the other hand, he does find it rather amusing when the doomed realize their imminent fates due to his scrupulously fair legal decisions, so W&H is quite willing to abide by the judge's rulings." After saying this, Effingham went back to studying his case files.

Spike frowned. It'd been previously explained to him that this wouldn't be a jury trial. Instead, the prosecutor would present their case against Spike. Effingham would in turn seek to undermine the opposition's case while defending the vampire. Finally, the judge would make his decision based on what he'd heard from both sides plus any additional questions asked by this bloke with the Oriental name.

Shooting a considering glance at a bald man with one of the most nefarious visages Spike had ever encountered, down to the oddly familiar goatee and drooping mustachios, the blond demon still felt sure things would soon go his way. Now, if only Spike could remember where he'd seen the judge before-

In the back of the courtroom, the door opened to produce a visitor tentatively approaching the prosecutor's table. Twisting around to see who'd just shown up, Spike's jaw dropped. Hissing to the lawyer next to him also watching, Spike asked, "What, is that _him?_ I know you said he was just starting out, but this wee nipper looks too bloody young for anything but naptime!"

"Yes, that's Alan Shore. Now, will you please settle down?" shot back Effingham in response over Spike loudly sniggering to himself. The amused vampire went on to hungrily eye the pink-cheeked lawyer du jour, just barely refraining from smacking his lips at such a delicious treat in store

Rolling his eyes in exasperation, the W&H lawyer then saw Mr. Shore halt by the prosecutor's table and place atop there his shiny new briefcase. The younger man then opened the briefcase to pull out several separate files and spread these face down onto the table. When this was done, a single _crack!_ sound came from the judge's bench, where this now-wakeful man had just rapped his gavel.

Hurriedly getting to his feet, Effingham bestowed a frustrated scowl at Spike, who'd remained in his chair. Giving a casual shrug, the vampire also leisurely stood up. The three men in their side-by-side positions now heard Judge Ming announce for the record, "Case Number 4734, Supernatural Jurisdiction, The State of Massachusetts versus Wolfram and Hart, August 23, 1987, is now in session. Mr. Shore, where is your client?"

Looking quite nervous, that addressed man nevertheless explained (albeit with a faint squeak in his voice which made Spike bite his tongue to stifle his mirth), "He's on tour, Your Honor. As allowed under the state legal code, my client signed over to me a full power of attorney to represent him in his absence. I have it right here." Those words were accompanied by one of the Mr. Shore's files being deferentially brandished into the judge's general direction.

A non-committal grunt was made by Judge Ming at this, along with an unmistakable wave of his hand to bring over at once the specific document. Scurrying towards the bench, Mr. Shore did so, to then thankfully retreat back to his table while the judge thoroughly studied the file.

At last, Judge Ming put the paper down on top of the bench to then declare, "All right, I find this power of attorney for Mr. Shore acceptable by the court. You may begin, counselor."

Taking a deep breath, the inexperienced prosecutor addressed the judge, "Your Honor, the main point of this case is that Mr. Spike, otherwise known as William the Bloody, falsely accused my client of unlawfully establishing his stage appearance and characteristics during performances, to wit, basing these both upon the same Mr. Spike-"

"Well, he damn well did! And the name's Spike!"

_Bang!_ came like a gunshot from the bench, along with a stern, "Mr. Effingham, control your client, or he'll face the full penalties of his actions. Is that quite clear?"

A blood-freezing glare was sent along with this reprimand. Despite himself, Spike was impressed. The vampire's appreciation only increased when Judge Ming switched his sinister mien to where a chastened Mr. Shore was waiting to speak again.

Gathering up both his courage and his remaining documents, the young lawyer stated, "I would like to offer into evidence the following sets of files, numbered from one to four. They are the result of extensive research about Mr. Spike's past, including the discovery of some extremely rare photographs of him, along with notarized eyewitness testimony. All of it comes with the most thorough authentication possible, Your Honor. May I submit them for your consideration?"

Looking a bit baffled, which matched the same perplexed expressions of Spike and Effingham, Judge Ming warily nodded in assent. This soon led to four piles of paper laid in front of a waiting judge, who next examined with some skepticism what was on his bench before reaching out for the file on the far left position. In the course of this, Mr. Shore again returned to his table. However, after taking his seat, that young man's head turned to look directly at Spike.

Meeting the bewildered vampire's gaze, Alan Shore then had a slow, triumphant, excessively gloating smirk appear upon his youthful face.

It was at that exact moment when Spike understood everything. Spike's shoulders drooped in utter humiliation and defeat. The demon also leaned forwards to rest his elbows atop the table, and let his head drop into ready palms. All of this was done while groaning under his breath, "Bugger it all, she _swore_ they'd been lost, the whole lot, when we last moved!"

Effingham was obviously not the least bit thrilled by seeing that. The sight of a client suddenly caught in their own lies was much too familiar to him. The W&H lawyer nonetheless sought from a downcast creature of the night, "What's going on? Why are you acting-"

"Mr. Spike?" was purred from the bench.

In response to this silky tone, the defense pair looked over in unison at where a decidedly intrigued Judge Ming was eyeing a far more averse Spike. Smoothing his bemused features into a more somber expression, the judge asked matter-of-factly, "Are these indeed pictures of yourself, taken at various times from what's put down on them as 1956, 1957, 1964, and 1969?"

During the recital of those specific dates, Judge Ming held up in turn four full-sized photographic headshots of none other than a very familiar Spike wearing the following coiffures: a greasy dyed-black pompadour, a conk, a mop top with forehead bangs, and lastly, an unruly mass of straight and partially curled long blond hair.

Shuffling through the pictures again, Judge Ming let an actual trace of incredulity creep in his voice. "Or, as identified here in what looks to be the same woman's handwriting throughout: 'Spike as Elvis,' 'Spike as Little Richard,' 'Spike as Paul,' and 'Spike as _Janis Joplin?_'"

Through stiff lips, Spike mumbled, "Dru liked my hair the best in that last one."

"Oh, I'm very sorry, Judge!" Alan Shore unctuously broke in the disbelieving silence which had descended in the courtroom after this latter revelation. "I missed one more file in my briefcase. If you want, I'll just give it to you now."

Starting to get up from his chair, the prosecutor also briskly hummed a few notes that only a vampire's sensitive ears could catch: "_It's close to midnight/Something evil's lurkin' in the dark-_"

Abruptly leaping up from his chair with enough force to send this skidding backwards, a furious Spike howled, "Don't bloody push it, you little perisher! Fine, you win! What the hell do you want from me, then?"

"Spike! Don't say another-!" began a horrified Effingham, before a taloned hand was roughly clapped over his mouth.

Bending down to snarl right into his silenced lawyer's bulging eyes, Spike now in game face menacingly told him, "Just belt up! I've had about enough, and if you give me any further lip, you'll be sacked on the spot!"

Straightening up while still holding Effingham in his clutch, Spike demanded from the other lawyer, "You, on the other hand, out with it already!"

Mr. Shore innocently scratched his chin, before musing, "I believe my client would be quite satisfied with your promise to never again allege he's imitating you. Plus, let me see...as compensation for his pain and suffering in the amount of…" With a verbal flourish, the young lawyer then recited a very specific sum of money.

Standing there motionless in his absolute shock for a few moments, Spike eventually croaked out, "But that's all the dosh I've got left from my winnings, down to the very last penny!"

"Good heavens, really?" cooed Alan Shore.

For an instant, Spike seemed to be about to massacre everyone else in the courtroom.

In spite of this, the vampire ultimately shifted back to his human form even as he let go of Effingham, who sagged in relief. While sullenly regarding the other lawyer over his attorney's head, Spike thrust his hand into a jacket pocket, withdrew from there his lottery check, and tossed it down onto the defense tabletop.

Pointing at the check and then jerking a thumb at the W&H lawyer flinching away from this, Spike crossly snapped at Mr. Shore, "You two legal twits sort it out between the pair of you! Me, I'm heading for the nearest demon bar, where I'll beat up someone there for their drink!"

Looking as if butter wouldn't melt in his mouth, the young lawyer glanced at Judge Ming impassively observing it all. Mr. Shore then respectfully addressed the senior official, "Your Honor, we seem to have settled this case out of court. Is this agreeable to you?"

Magnanimously nodding, Judge Ming rapped his gavel once upon the bench. In his most solemn tone, he declared, "Case dismissed."

Hearing this and knowing it meant he was free to leave, Spike whirled away from the table and he stalked towards the rear door of the courtroom. Already planning to get sufficiently ratarsed to forget tonight's whole outrageous farce, Spike nonetheless had to pause on his way out before the exit due to the conversation now taking place behind him.

Looking suspiciously over his shoulder, Spike couldn't help but see Judge Ming giving Alan Shore an actually approving glance. It resembled nothing less than Genghis Khan congratulating one of his subordinate chiefs for setting a new record in razing an enemy city and selling everyone there into slavery.

"That was a most commendable strategy, Mr. Shore, investigating your opponent's history to find their weaknesses. Judging from the defendant's previous examples of emulating the look of other music entertainers, it appears quite likely he also copied your client, even if this wasn't actually admitted by him."

"Thank you, Your Honor," humbly acknowledged the young lawyer, beginning to gather up from the judge's bench the files and photographs of Spike dressed up as various rock stars.

"You're quite welcome. Oh, a minor word of advice, if I may," Judge Ming added in a helpful tone. "It would be rather prudent to make some arrangements in advance in order to avoid any… _personal _…difficulties which may arise for you as a result of recent events."

With his arms filled with papers, Alan Shore enthusiastically responded, "That's already been done, sir! I made copies of these-" (the lawyer nodded downwards at what he was carrying) "-and put them in a really safe place, to be sent to whomever would find them highly interesting should I accidentally fall down a flight of stairs and break my neck. Or who knows, maybe vanish entirely without a trace one night?"

Still at his table, Effingham perked up while listening at this splendid example of maintaining proper shyster standards. Something which was alas most rare for these times, especially in one so young.

This led him to civilly address the other attorney, "Absolutely admirable, Mr. Shore. Would you care to share a cigar and cognac with the judge and I at the Last Call? It's an exceedingly discreet establishment nearby, where we settle things between ourselves after our cases. There won't be any problems with having you along as our guest."

Before a delighted young lawyer could accept, an immense _CRASH_ resounded throughout the courtroom.

Frowning at where Spike had just slammed hard the door behind himself while leaving in a thorough huff over his ruined schemes for revenge later on, Judge Ming sniffed, "Vampires today, they just don't have genuine style anymore."


	24. August 24, 1967

Summary: The story wasn't quite over with when Red finally met Andy on the beach at Zihuatanejo.

* * *

Andy and Red had been talking for hours about their lives since the last time they'd seen each other in Shawshank Prison. The two men finally became silent to watch together the Technicolor sunset happened in front of them both relaxing in their chairs on the sand.

When it was all over with, the gaudy yellow-orange-red orb disappearing from sight far out in the Pacific Ocean beyond the pair of former convicts, Andy observed with some puzzlement at how Red then warily glanced around in the descending darkness. His mystification only increased further at his friend's next offhand remark, "Andy, you remember the rock you used to mark your cache in that field back at Buxton?"

"Uh, _what?_" was the best a startled Andy could manage, completely thrown for a loop by this unexpected question.

Red nodded his grizzled head. "Yeah, that one. What I want to know is, was it made out of some weird stuff like, uh, those things they use in atom bombs? So that if it gets pounded hard against something, it goes off like nitro?"

Andy now stared in his utter disbelief at the man sitting next to him. After a few more moments of out-and-out perplexity, the escapee from Shawshank Prison then stated, "Absolutely not, Red! That rock's just a piece of natural glass called obsidian, something I picked up as a souvenir a long time ago. Why the hell are you asking this for in the first place? I mean, because you're here, you obviously didn't have any trouble finding-"

"Saw it right away lying there at that stone wall," agreed Red, interrupting the other man. He went on in the face of Andy's evident confusion, "No, it was what happened later on that made me wonder all the rest of my trip. Let me just tell you the whole story, okay?"

At Andy's cautious half-shrug of acceptance, Red settled back into his chair. He began, "Like I said, I didn't have a problem with missing where you'd put the rock, what with it being all black and shiny. Anyway, I got it out and found the money and letter you left for me in the hollow behind the rock. When I was walking out of the field, though, besides that stuff put away in my coat pockets, I also had the rock in there."

"Why?" asked a fascinated Andy.

Red sent a faint smile at his friend. "No real reason, Andy. Just sort of thought it wouldn't do to toss it away, like I did with the little box what you hid there to hold the other stuff. Now, as I told you before, I also left everything back in Maine: my parole officer, the crappy job he got me, and all the rest of my old life without a second thought. Made a few hops around the area to cover my tracks before taking a cross-country bus, all without any trouble. Though, there _was_ one damn tight spot for me, which happened on the first night out."

Andy straightened up in his chair to gaze in sudden worry at Red himself looking blankly off at the ocean horizon now almost totally dark. Starting to speak in a flat monotone, Red continued, "It was at the bus layover, some place just before Philadelphia. I got a single room at a two-bit motel, went to sleep and then woke up a while on from a nightmare where I was back at Shawshank and wasn't ever gonna do anything but die in there."

Andy winced with real sympathy. Nevertheless, he listened to the following terse narration, "Got out of bed, got dressed, took out your money I was keeping safe under the mattress, and headed to the front desk. I asked the guy at the desk if there was any place open close by for a cup of coffee and a slice of pie to clear my head. He told me about an all-night diner a few blocks away, so I got my coat from my room, and went looking for that diner. Found it, had some okay pie, and then on the way back to the motel, I got mugged."

A disbelieving snort erupted from Andy at that point, which in turn brought forth a supremely cynical quirk of Red's lips. "Yeah, ain't that some shit? A forty-year con gets yanked into some alley and threatened for his wallet, like I was nothing more than a candy-ass member of the public? Hell, if I'd heard about it from someone else sharing our cellblock, I'd have laughed my head off!"

Red then had his sardonic mood abruptly change into actual apprehension at remembering it all over again. "But right then and there, I was instead just barely keeping from pissing my drawers. See, it wasn't some ordinary mugging, and whoever just grabbed me, he wasn't some ordinary goon, either. I got tipped off 'bout that when I was manhandled without the least bit of trouble, Andy. I'm talking here, and you can believe me or not, over getting snatched off the sidewalk into the alley, and then lifted up and slammed hard into the wall by the guy using just his _one_ hand!"

Ignoring how Andy was gaping at him, Red shivered. "Things soon turned even more outlandish. I got a nasty crack at the back of my head from hitting the wall, and maybe that might've explained the rest of it. I really, really hope so. Because when I looked down at the guy who was still holding me up without any problem, he was wearing one hell of a convincing monster mask with ugly skin, glowing yellow eyes, and a mouthful of fangs. He also didn't have no problem talking through all that, what with him telling me in some funny accent his name was Spike, but I didn't have to remember that 'cause he was gonna drain me dry and then dump my dead body in the alley!"

"How did you-" came from an awed Andy.

This was broken into by Red's implacable voice, "Just let me get it out in one go, all right? I gave the other guy a pretty feeble kick, which didn't do nothing except make him grin even nastier at me and watch to see what I did next. Well, there was only one thing left to try, so I reached into my coat pocket and grabbed onto your rock there, which I'd never taken out ever on the bus or at the motel. I had a real firm hold on it, so I yanked it out and as fast as I could, I smacked it awfully hard against the side of his head like a set of brass knuckles."

Red paused a moment to take a deep breath. "All I expected was maybe for that to put the mugger out cold. It wouldn't have bothered me a bit if it'd been permanent. Instead, me and him, we got a hell of a shock. When that rock walloped my mugger, the damn thing went off like a big firecracker, all white light and an almighty bang! Strangest of all, I didn't feel anything in my hand holding the rock, no blast or heat which should've blown off every one of my fingers."

Another inhalation was taken by the former Maine inmate. "Him, on the other hand, his hair lit right up like a bonfire. I got straightaway let go by that mugger, who started trying to smother his burning head with both bare hands, along with running off deeper into the alley. This came with him yelling fit to kill all the while. Once I was back up on my feet from where I'd been dumped, I made tracks of my own. Didn't bother to check out of the motel; instead, I ran to the bus station and took the first available one there. Stayed awake the rest of the night and barely slept a wink the next night, all while riding the buses. Along the way, I found out I'd probably lost the rock back in the alley; I sure as hell didn't have it anymore. It wasn't until I got to the border that I finally felt safe."

At the finish of his incredible story, Red sent a gimlet eye at where Andy now had his own mouth hanging open. "So, what the fuck was that damn rock?"

Andy sputtered for several moments while waving his hands helplessly, "I don't- That couldn't-"

Eventually, he took a deep breath of his own to come out with in a very careful tone, "Listen, Red, whatever else happened to you, that rock couldn't have been any part of it!"

A very skeptical glance from his friend greeted this information, causing Andy to argue further, "The only reason I used that piece of obsidian is because it was so unique and couldn't be mistaken for anything else. Unless you knew it had no business being there, it'd otherwise be ignored by anyone who looked at the stone wall. I told you a few minutes ago it was a souvenir, and that's the honest truth. On our honeymoon trip before the war, my wife and I went to Hawaii, and we visited a nature park out in the country consisting of a lava field, with parts of it still flowing like a molten river. That rock was a solid lump of cooled lava I found there."

Andy smirked towards Red. "You know quite well I'm interested in geology, and I was back then too."

Despite his irritation at not being taken seriously, Red had to grin at what Andy just said. That other man's amazing escape from Shawshank had been successful due in great measure to the banker falsely convicted of the murder of his wife and her lover possessing a side hobby consisting of the study of rocks and minerals.

Red leaned back in his chair, listening to Andy talk. "The rock you found and took from Buxton, I did the same thing in Hawaii, really. It came back home with us in our luggage, and I kept it around the house as a fine example of volcanic glass. When I was preparing for the worse during my trial, it went into the safe deposit box my lawyer set up for me under an assumed name. After my escape, I removed the rock from there and used it to mark what I left for you in that field. Now, throughout all that, the rock wasn't different in any way from what it was in the almost thirty years I had it, or in all the possibly thousands or even millions of years it existed in Hawaii, just like all the other rocks still there. Which, I have to say again, don't _ever_ behave the way you described it doing when you hit the mugger with it!"

"Huh," thoughtfully commented Red, adding, "You mean, you can't think of any reasonable answer to the whole weird thing?"

Andy just shrugged in real sympathy. "I'm afraid so, Red. Unless we ever find out anything more, it looks like it'll stay a complete mystery. Just count yourself lucky-"

For the next few moments, there was only the low crash of the surf while a surprised Red regarded how Andy had suddenly developed a very astonished expression right after cutting himself off in mid-sentence. At last becoming impatient, Red prompted, "What's up, Andy? You figured it out now?"

Bringing his attention back to the beach, Andy sent a most rueful smile towards his friend. "Not the way you think, Red. Just an odd thought, about something I read in the prison library a few years ago. I came across an article in a travel magazine donated there, about the same Hawaiian park where I found and took home that piece of obsidian. It seems over the decades, a lot of other visitors did the same thing, and the natives weren't happy about it at all. They claimed that Pelé, the local goddess of volcanoes, put a curse of serious misfortune against anyone who stole her rocks. The really bizarre part of the article was that some of the tourists definitely had enough bad luck so that they either brought back in person their lava rocks to the park, or mailed them to the local post office to have these stones returned to their proper place."

Red stared in disbelief at where Andy was sheepishly meeting his incredulous gaze. The black man blurted out, "And you actually think that rock _was_ cursed?"

Andy then gave Red a truly deadpan look. "_Most_ people would consider an innocent man being sent to prison for twenty years and then nearly kill himself breaking out of there to be the most perfect example possible of bad luck, Red."

Rolling his eyes, Red inwardly conceded Andy had a really good point. Still, if he was going along with Andy's wild idea, something needed to be mentioned. "What about me? _I_ didn't take that damn rock from where you said you lifted it. So, how come I nearly got murdered by that bastard mugger?"

Andy sent a truly wicked grin towards the man he'd come to consider the best friend this former banker ever had in his whole life. "It could be argued that since you were bringing the rock both back to me and nearer to its former home in Hawaii, you weren't actually under Pelé's curse. No, the guy who threatened you, _he_ got the full force of the jinx. Plus, since it's also his fault you lost the rock so that Pelé will have to wait even longer to get it back, it's likely he'll be plagued with a lot more hard luck in the future, won't he?"

Thinking this over, Red's contemplation was interrupted by seeing from out the corner of his eye Andy's twitching mouth. A second later, unable to hold it back any more, the ex-banker started laughing out loud over the fine joke he'd just pulled on his buddy to ease that other man's recent bad memories. At first, this realization of Andy's teasing made Red feel actual outrage, until it occurred to him that for the first time since the attack, he wasn't all that much bothered by remembering this.

White teeth flashing in the darkness, Red affectionately said, "Andy, you're a first-rate asshole."

"Takes one to know one," snickered Andy. He rose from his chair, extending a hand to Red. "C'mon, let's head to my shack and turn in. I'll show you around the beach tomorrow, and we can find you a place of your own."

Taking Andy's calloused hand, Red got up, and as the two men left the ocean behind, he amiably ended their conversation, "Sounds good to me, Andy."


	25. August 25, 1980

Summary: Spike learns there are occasional moments when flying the friendly skies is without a doubt not any kind of a good idea.

* * *

Spike was definitely going to kill _someone_ for this.

His already vast wrath increased at every stomping step from the cargo compartment where he'd punched his way out several moments ago. Relentlessly striding down the center corridor of a jet aircraft with all its empty seats ignored by Spike, he ended up facing the shut cockpit door. A vampire with absolute murder in his unbeating heart then proceeded to viciously pull open that last barrier to a nice little bout of blood-spattered carnage. In full game face and with talons ready to rip and tear, Spike stood in the plane's doorway. The demon was fully prepared to express his ire against that damn pilot who for the last few minutes had flown this thing with all the expertise of Charlie Brown ineffectively trying to keep a plunging kite from landing into the clutching branches of a certain toy-munching tree.

It'd been one hell of a rough ride for Spike previously snoozing away at peace in his cushioned coffin. He ordinarily never bothered with this cliché from the horror movies, but it still remained one of the most discreet means of traveling by air transportation. Plus, anyone who still peeked inside the casket would be satisfied at discovering nothing more unusual in there than a blond corpse, who'd normally have a few seconds' warning before the lid was opened to stay unbreathing, without a pulse, and perfectly inert throughout any customs inspection by those rude buggers.

On this night's journey through the firmament, though, Spike had been abruptly awoken by the horrifying sensation of his flying machine being totally out of control. It'd then swooped, dived, rolled, and otherwise conducted the kind of aerial maneuvers for which if the vampire had in fact still been alive, Spike would've promptly puked up everything in his stomach. Randomly thrown around inside the oblong container, which itself seemed to be running amok all over the cargo compartment, this wild ride ended with Spike's airplane performing a barely-survivable crash landing onto an airport runway.

Finally extricating himself from his battered coffin now under a massive heap of other passengers' luggage, a vile-tempered Spike had then managed to exit the cargo area into the travelers' section. He'd been too furious to particularly care about how those same sods had already decamped at maximum speed through the emergency exits without bothering to wait for their belongings. If they'd gotten in his inexorable way towards the cockpit door, the vampire would've simply slaughtered them all without a second thought. Spike had been planning to do just that to the proud person at this airliner's controls, some idiot who'd most likely have been congratulating himself at saving everyone from disaster tonight.

Except…nobody was there in the plane's nose section.

Spike boggled at the empty seats in the cockpit, just before beginning to curse out loud at failing to get here in time to catch those arseholes responsible for his hectic flight. Turning away with a discontented snarl, Spike glanced at the closest open side door with its emergency evacuation slide still attached outside. On the runway, the flashing lights of fire trucks, ambulances, and other rescue vehicles were coming nearer. Spike had no more than a few seconds at the most to make his own escape away from the plane without being seen. Taking a step towards the ajar passenger door, the vampire glumly prepared for a most undignified descent-

_Whoosh!_

At that unexpected sound coming from the cockpit, Spike flinched. He next promptly whirled around, getting ready for run for his unlife if this noise was the signal that jet fuel leaking from the plane's ruptured tanks had just ignited. Instead, the blond demon gaped in utter astonishment at what he was now seeing.

A plastic, life-size doll had popped up in the pilot's seat, and this man-shaped figure was slowly inflating into its fullest extent. Spike's bulging eyes dazedly noted the doll was dressed up in some sort of aircraft costume like a...pilot.

_Whoosh!_

This time, Spike didn't budge at yet another appearance of a second doll a little smaller than the first, in the opposite seat across from the pilot figure. The numb vampire then noted the slighter in size doll also inflating was clearly female, down to the flight attendant's dress she was wearing. Just when Spike bid bye-bye to the last vestiges of his sanity, things went really weird.

The pilot doll's head turned to look out at something through the left-side cockpit window, and he then smartly saluted towards this. Next, the right arm of the inflated figure dropped to the airplane's throttles, gripped these in his flexible stubby hand, and shoved all of those controls fully forward.

Staggered backwards in response to the aircraft surging ahead with growing velocity and a horrible screeching sound of the bottom of the plane skidding against the runway (they'd arrived without using the landing gear and were departing the same way), Spike shot a panicky look at the passenger door he'd been about to exit through earlier. He did this just in time to see the door slam shut under the impetus of their speeding craft. Desperately glancing over his shoulder, the vampire saw the other doors had done the same, leaving him no easy way off the bloody plane!

At that point, the nose of the airliner tilted up, followed by the entire machine now taking off. Stumbling into the nearest seat, Spike tried to figure out what the hell to do next. They were already too high for him to survive jumping off this damn thing, even if he managed to somehow open a door or window. Nor could he threaten _whatever_ was presently flying them through the air to soddin' land right away. What was he going to do, bite something that'd just explode like a burst balloon?

No, he'd just have to wait and see what happened. In the meantime, though... Spike sat up in his seat, mentally taking hold of himself.

Bugger all this. He was William the Bloody. More important, he'd honestly paid for his plane ticket, even if it was for riding as cargo!

Taking an actual deep breath, Spike then bellowed into the direction of the cockpit, "OI, YOU! THE IN-FLIGHT MOVIE BETTER NOT BE ONE I'VE SEEN BEFORE! ALSO, STEWARDESS, WHERE'S MY HONEY-ROASTED PEANUTS? GET A DAMN MOVE ON IN THERE!"

* * *

Author's Note: Well, considering the ludicrous ending to _Airplane!,_ you have to honestly wonder what Otto the autopilot and his female companion (plus their unexpected passenger) will get up to together after the closing shot of this battered flying machine disappearing into the night sky.


	26. August 26, 1927

Summary: It's always wise to be cautious concerning pub wagers, especially when the local demons know something about Blandings Castle which Spike unfortunately neglected to find out beforehand.

* * *

"Nobody said it was so bloody _big!_" snarled Spike, glaring all the while at the massive animal peacefully snoring away in its pen.

Hearing that very annoyed comment from her latest visitor, the Empress of Blandings then woke up. Opening one eye, she sleepily gazed back at the strange-smelling human presently regarding with genuine ire the enormous pig stretched out on its clean straw laid upon the barn floor.

Irritably shoving his hands in his pants pocket, Spike now understood the reason for the suppressed snickers made by those demon wankers left behind in the village pub when the sloshed vampire staggered outside into the moonlit night there after making his ill-considered bet just an hour or so ago. On his helpfully-directed way to the nearby castle, Spike partially sobered up by the time he'd arrived overland at the place, enough so that a demon's keen nose easily followed the scent of his latest prey to an estate barn.

Inside the snug livestock quarters, Spike glowered off into the distance. Dammit, he'd been tricked, no question about it! In all the convivial quaffing with his newest grotesque friends, those ugly sods talking about the neighborhood's prize-winning pig mentioned how valuable it was, among other things. Though, looking back, at no point of their intoxicated discussion had it ever been specifically revealed to Spike that this swine was almost the size of a full-grown Clydesdale horse!

Already well into his cups by then, Spike's abrupt jeer as to why the lily-livered crowd hadn't already snaffled this precious porker for some ready cash soon led to him putting down all the dosh he possessed against the pub patrons' own money. To collect tonight, Spike merely had to bring back alive the pig to the tavern, which frankly didn't seem all that difficult at the time. If the oinking beast couldn't be tucked under an arm, all the vampire had to do was to get a rope, tie it around a hirsute neck, and just drag the bloody animal back to the pub.

Glumly eyeing the vast mound of flesh leisurely resting in its enclosure, Spike now said with real venom in his tone, "One of the seven wonders of the ancient world, the statue called the Colossus of Rhodes, it couldn't have picked up and carried this load under one arm! Not without needing a damn derrick!"

As if to directly contradict Spike's grouchy complaint, the Empress of Blandings now came fully awake and heaved herself up onto her four hooves. She then ambled over to where her visitor was standing in front of the interior fence confining the pig, to then lean against the vertical oak planks. These two-inch thick pieces of lumber promptly bulged outwards from the gigantic weight now pushing against them, making agonized creaking noises all the while.

Looking down with raised eyebrows, Spike studied how the huge porcine head was now presenting itself just below where the vampire was located. From the pig's open mouth next came a loud "UNGHH!"

Spike glanced around a bit nervously. There hadn't been any sign of a caretaker for this pig when he'd entered the barn, but that didn't mean there wasn't one ready to show up at any moment, attracted by that strident grunting. He automatically hissed at the pig, "Shut up, will you?"

"UNGHH!"

"Quiet!" snapped Spike again in response, his voice becoming a little panicked. At that point, the vampire's attention was diverted by how the pig's right ear was quivering, almost as if...

"Oh, you must be completely joking," Spike muttered under his breath taken just for that disbelieving statement.

"UNGHH!"

Giving an incredulous shrug of his shoulders which clearly indicated Spike was already regretting the hasty decision he'd just made, a demon's hand was nevertheless put forward into the proper position. Then, Spike gave the pig a good, long scratch behind this animal's ear.

The Empress of Blandings uttered a blissful groan. Fortunately, that happy noise soon trailed off into a contended silence. Spike still kept on scratching, lest stopping this caused that royal sow to begin protesting at the top of her lungs the cessation of that relieving action against a very persistent itch.

After a minute or more of continuous rubbing, Spike started wondering what the hell to do next. The most sensible thing was to just admit defeat, leave here, and pay up his lost wager at the pub. On the other hand, this hog was really enjoying his scratching, so maybe he could coax that wagonload of potential bangers into-

"Magnificent, isn't she?"

Spike jerked his hand away from its former position and whirled around in shock. He hadn't heard at all who'd just sneaked up on him and said that! Gazing with astonishment at the mature man in his slightly shabby garments standing in the barn's open doorway, Spike's puzzlement was interrupted by a now familiar complaint coming from behind:

"UNGHH!"

Wandering over to stand in front of the fence next to Spike, the tall and thin stranger placidly suggested, "Go ahead, my dear chap, put your hand back where she likes it the most."

After a moment's hesitation, Spike did as he'd just been advised. When a set of cold fingers started working away once more behind her ear, the Empress of Blandings let out a low moan of pleasure. Warily glancing out of the corner of his eye, Spike saw the bald gaffer at his side beam downwards with absolute pride at the farm animal truly enjoying herself.

Not knowing what else to say, Spike asked, "You the keeper for this pig?"

"Oh, no, that's Wellbeloved," replied the other man, who then nearsightedly peered around the otherwise deserted barn before remembering the pince-nez hanging from its chain around his neck. Bringing up these glasses to perch them onto his nose, an owlish glance was sent Spike's way, along with the vampire now hearing from his companion, "I say, dash it all, is he gone again? I thought the blighter had learned his lesson, after the Empress nearly lost the trophy due to his carelessness!"

"What?" frowned Spike into the foolishly-amiable face of this berk who'd just delivered that totally baffling statement.

Brightening up at this newest opportunity to share the story of the latest triumph for the Empress of Blandings, the untidily-dressed man now gladly discoursed at full length the events of the last few days: the pig-keeper sent to the clink for being caught drunk and disorderly, resulting in the Empress going off her feed, a desperate search for the master call to which all pigs will respond, and ending up with the grand victory for his champion sow at the 87th Annual Shropshire Agricultural Show.

Feeling more than a bit disoriented at the idiocy which he'd just been forced to listen to, Spike seized on one specific fact. "_Your_ pig? Are you the owner, then?"

"Quite so, quite so. Ah, that's right, I didn't introduce myself. Terribly sorry, rather. I'm Emsworth, Lord Emsworth, ninth earl of Blandings Castle."

Spike froze in mid-scratch. He mentally groaned, *Oh, bugger! That's torn it, the game's up for once and all. Can't do anything but skive off as fast as I can. Killing this aristocratic numbskull would cause far too much trouble for me, and I damn well haven't the slightest hope of filching Missus Bacon anyway. Time to cut your losses and depart without further ado, mate.*

Taking his hand off the apparently slumbering pig, Spike politely offered this to His Lordship, who exercised a benevolent handshake with another set of quite icy fingers. Once this was done, Spike cautiously edged past the other man, who didn't seem to be paying any further attention to the vampire. Instead, the Emsworth bloke stayed where he was, fondly taking in the swine asleep in her pen all through Spike's circumspect exit from the barn.

When he was done with his fast sprint a couple of minutes later, Spike paused on the lane leading to the village below. There, a pub now filled with a room of gleeful demons awaited Spike's return, to celebrate not just a successful prank against him but also for taking that blood-drinking outsider for every penny he had. This vampire scowled. Spike definitely wasn't looking forward to that, all the mockery and ridicule from those sods pocketing his paid-off wager. For damn sure, the whole amusing story would also soon spread far and wide, turning his vicious reputation to absolute tatters-

Now, hold on just a moment. Why exactly should it happen like that, instead of something else?

A very fiendish grin then came into existence upon Spike's visage. He smugly intoned, "Dead demons tell no tales."

Aye, that'd be the ticket. Storm into the pub without the least bit of warning, slaughter all those pillocks, loot their bodies, and then simply disappear into the night. In the unlikely event of any survivors or witnesses getting away to talk about it later on, all Spike needed to do afterwards in case of any nervous allusion to the Blandings massacre would be to insouciantly light up a fag and announce in his most off-hand manner, "I did it 'cause I felt like it, see? You got any problem with that?"

Spike nodded cheerfully to himself. He was feeling much better now, what with the chance for some revenge and a nice, piled-high heap of cooling corpses. That'd make up quite well for the entire bit of ludicrousness back at the barn with its silly nobleman and his overweight pig. The vampire headed off for a glorious round of murder and havoc, never to know just how close he'd come to his own extermination.

* * *

Resting his elbows on the enclosure's upper railing, Lord Emsworth patiently waited until the Empress of Blandings bestirred herself again. The pig looked up with an actually intelligent gaze at her owner, and she nodded once, signifying the animal's far better senses had now lost track of a departing demon.

Relaxing slightly, the aristocrat mused out loud, "Wonder where that vampire's off to now? Oh, well, just as long as he doesn't ever come back here."

Shifting sideways to where that demon had formerly been standing, Lord Emsworth commenced his own vigorous scratching behind the swine's ear. A few seconds into this, the man further stated nostalgically, "It's been a funny life for us both, hasn't it, old friend?"

In her current state of deep bliss, the sow didn't bother responding, leaving the man who'd once been Diarmuid Ua Duibhne, the greatest warrior of the Finna, lost in his own thoughts of the past.

* * *

Millennia ago, from amongst the mists of Celtic mythology, an Irishman foremost in legend among that land's fighters, supremely skilled with all known weapons, had on a truly special day been nose to nose with his very doom. Right then and there, a quick question was posed by Diarmuid for the first time ever: "Why are we doing this?"

About to finish the task of lifelong vengeance which he'd been burdened with ever since being brought back from the dead, the great boar of Beinn Gulbain paused just before his tusks would've ripped apart a helpless foe lying before the advancing animal. A genuinely skeptical gleam appeared in the beast's eyes at this obvious last-second attempt to distract him.

"No, think about it," urged Diarmuid. "First my father murdered you, a young boy. Then, so your own father could have revenge for this, magic made you live again - only this time, you were transformed into the most ferocious boar around and cursed to eventually kill the son of the same man who started the whole thing. But it doesn't have to be this way! If nobody but you can kill me, I won't die - and neither will you, as long as you don't kill me!"

At the loud porcine snort of disbelief produced by that latter comment, Diarmuid quickly pointed out, "How long do you think you'd last against every warrior in the land looking to make a name for themselves by taking the head of the beast who brought down the famous Diarmuid?"

This time, the shaggy head with its muzzle and curling tusks tilted to the side in actual curiosity at how bitterly that human delivered those final two words.

"Yes!" Diarmuid angrily continued. "I'm sick and tired of fighting! Against you, against every other monster around, against all those uppity kids who challenge me at every chance! Not to mention how complicated my life's been ever since that witch gave me the damn 'love spot' on my forehead! Do you have any idea how much trouble it's caused me? I can't walk a hundred paces anywhere before meeting husbands, fathers, brothers, and uncles, all of them more than eager to cut my throat just because with one single look into my direction, their wives, daughters, sisters, and nieces all instantly fell in love with me!"

The fascinated boar sat down upon its haunches to listen while the rant continued.

"Finally, there's the whole repulsive situation with Gráinne! The way my luck's been going, a few centuries hence people will think of nothing but how romantic it must've been. I don't _want_ romance! I want peace and quiet from the most clinging woman ever born! I want total boredom for the next couple of years while I figure how to get rid of this piece of shite on my head! And that's where _you_ come in..." Trailing off with that, Diarmuid sent a honestly appealing glance at the surprised male pig.

With a guarded shrug of his massive shoulders, the boar indicated it was willing to listen for now.

"Here's my plan," Diarmuid outlined. "We sneak off by boat to the big island eastwards - I've got a friend who'll do it and keep quiet afterwards - and retire into obscurity. Hopefully, people will forget us soon enough, or consider any stories about you and me to have been made up by the bards. We stay together while I learn about magic. I'll work on curing both of our banes, me and the love spell, you stuck as a boar. After that, we'll see. So, how about it?"

The boar steadily stared at Diarmuid until the human began to sweat in his growing nervousness. At length, however, a firm nod was made by this animal as an acceptance of their new compact.

* * *

In the barn several thousand years later, Lord Emsworth continued to scratch the ear of his slumbering companion while a rueful smile displayed itself on the immortal's lips. He eventually spoke aloud to nobody in particular, "Well, things didn't go exactly to plan, did they? I never dreamed we'd live so long, or even that you'd turn down the chance to be human again. Nor did I foresee the occasional difficulties that history and magic caused for us both over the centuries. I mean, I _liked_ being a swineherd for most of the Middle Ages. But then the Black Plague came along and catapulted me into the aristocracy, and I could never figure a good reason to get out of it. At least being an eccentric, scatterbrained peer gives me the perfect excuse of taking an interest in nothing else besides the Empress of Blandings. You've never blamed me either for that stupid wizard who cast his gender-reversing enchantment right before you stomped him into a paste."

Taking his hand away to go back to resting his elbows upon the railing, His Lordship grinned down at the Empress. "On the whole, it's still been rather fun, hasn't it? Making it even better are the recent entertaining muddles we've been involved together, old friend. I hope there'll be many more, though we could've surely done without that blasted vampire who dropped in tonight. I'll check on the castle's protective wards, see if some tweaking can be done on them to extend their range to this barn. Don't worry, though, you did a good job distracting him until I got here. If that leech had made the slightest wrong move, he wouldn't have had any chance to realize his mistake."

Lord Emsworth's usual air of being a harmless, oblivious old duffer abruptly changed into a fierceness he hadn't shown since the late unpleasantness with the Roundheads and the Cavaliers. Dropping his left arm at his side, the man shook that limb sufficiently hard enough so that a slim, pointed wooden stick shot out from inside his shirtsleeve. Expertly catching the gardening stake in mid-air, Lord Emsworth twirled several times the weapon he'd snatched up along his hurried way to the barn. Slipping the stake back into position, the long-ago Celtic warrior gave one final fond glance at the Empress of Blandings before preparing to head back to bed.

Chuckling under his breath while turning away from the pen, an idle comment was tossed off by Diarmuid towards a sleeping pig, "I must say, I'm glad there really wasn't any need for a fight here, however short it would've been. You know quite well that vampire dust gives you the worse ever attack of asthma."

* * *

Author's Note: Part of the above story is a _very_ tongue-in-cheek reworking of the Irish legend known as 'The Pursuit of Diarmuid and Gráinne', along with other disruptive episodes taken from Diarmuid's life. In my opinion, that poor guy had exceedingly good cause for just saying to hell with it all and slinking away at the first available opportunity to become a solitary hermit.

Further Note: The events of the Blandings Castle story titled 'Pig-hoo-o-o-o-ey' (which Lord Emsworth described in such excessive detail to Spike) were first made known to P.G. Wodehouse's devotees in the United Kingdom through the August 1927 edition of the Strand magazine.


	27. August 27, 1938

Summary: Serenading your lover, while sometimes being the most romantic thing ever, can also spectacularly backfire for this singer. Not that such a sentimental catastrophe can possibly happen to Spike late one summer in pre-war England...

* * *

Spike cautiously stayed out of harm's way while twitching back the edge of the heavy curtain. It was fortunate he did so, since the line of bright sunlight momentarily shining on the floor rug showed the fine London weather outside was still as fair and warm as it'd been for the entire last week. This happened to be a discovery which didn't improve at all the vampire's grumpy mood.

Turning away from the window thoroughly covered by thick fabric, Spike ambled across the apartment living room with its lit electric lamps and disconsolately sat down in the nearest armchair. He sent an irritated glower around at the masculine, Victorian-style furnishings as if this decor could be blamed for everything which had gone wrong for him in the past couple of days. Mentally tallying up his troubles in no particular order, Spike morosely wondered how he'd come to have a dead bloke in the bedroom and why Dru was now treating him like he was lower than dirt.

Well, they were both connected by a sort of daft logic, really. After being tossed out on his ear by Dru from the crypt they shared in Highgate at the culmination of their ferocious row, Spike had sulkily roamed the neighborhood afterwards. As is common in these situations, he'd at first muttered out loud throughout his wanderings the perfect parting shot which Spike had failed to come up with at the time. To be fair, the vampire had been lying face down then at where he'd painfully landed upon some dearly departed's tomb after sailing through the air, propelled by Dru's forceful kick to his arse.

Around midnight, Spike had sensibly decided not to head back to the crypt right away. His lover was definitely going to hold a grudge over the cause of their recent argument for a while, and it'd be best to let her cool off for an equal while. Instead, Spike followed home a drunken chap celebrating a night out, and during amiably chatting him up, the vampire found out the sloshed man was a bachelor living alone at his nearby apartment. This soon led to an imprudent invitation inside for a nightcap, which Spike did indeed consume, though not what the now-lifeless other man had intended in the first place.

It'd been a comfortable enough bolt hole for Spike the rest of the night and most of the following day, but now he was both totally bored and eager to make up with Dru. That could be rather a problem, come to think of it. She wasn't going to easily forgive him, not after what he'd done.

In his armchair, Spike resumed scowling at the covered window and the beautiful weather outside. Dammit, he hadn't _meant_ to drop her bloody doll on its head! It'd been a pure accident, honestly. Still, from the way she'd carried on, bursting into tears and cradling that eerie toy in her arms and then accusing him of being nothing but a horrible brute, could anyone really blame him for refusing to apologize for what he'd done? Particularly since this groveling admission of guilt ordered from him by the bonkers vampiress included a remorseful kiss by Spike onto Miss Edith's forehead?

"Bugger _that!_" Spike huffily announced to the otherwise deserted room. After another few moments of straightening up to pose in an attitude of proud determination, Spike's obstinate temper soon changed into sheepish surrender, physically matched by his slumping down in the armchair.

Oh, all right. Spike just had to admit it. He wanted Dru back, his adorable little dewy-eyed monster. So, was there any way to do this without having to lose every scrap of his remaining dignity? Hmmm... How about a decent present for her, say, as a distraction? Maybe a freshly-acquired necklace of virgin's eyeballs? Or a nice box of chocolates dipped in the blood of aristocrats? Dru had a definite weakness for that. Best of all would be her favorite, though. It'd be something of a bother, having to get the materials so quickly, but Dru's beautiful face would surely light up the way he loved when she had placed before her an oversize meal platter where a three-year-old girl orphan was trussed tight and all ready to be devoured, down to the fresh daisies entwined in the blonde hair of the sacrifice.

Spike's happy smile at contemplating delivering those gifts of affection for his dear Dru swiftly faded at the uncomfortable reminder that he'd already bought his way out from their previous disputes with these exact bribes several times over. No, he needed something new, something different.

Leaning back in the armchair, Spike started thinking hard. In his blank stare ahead, the vampire's attention was soon distracted by the curtained window. Sending another annoyed grimace into that direction, Spike growled to himself that it'd help him cogitate much better if all that damn sunshine and blue skies out there were replaced by a good, thick, London pea-souper. Just like the one a few months ago, when during better times he and Dru had rambled together through the town cloaked in its supremely dense mid-morning fog smelling of coal and damp.

They'd had a wonderful stroll, and the risk made it only sweeter. A rare opportunity to come out in the day, it'd been, when the murkiness was so impenetrable that even a pair of vampires could safely walk outside without being burned to ashes. Dru had gotten rather randy over the whole thing, so much that the twosome had promptly found the nearest wall for a bit of upright slap and tickle. It turned out even better halfway through, when a passerby blindly stumbling along the sidewalk through the fog had found himself right next to a couple most indecorously occupied with each other.

Of course, instead of acting properly chastened, this man and woman had just grinned at the shocked passerby, and their faces then turned into monsters' masks.

Ahhhh, Spike nostalgically thought, that'd been absolutely delightful, draining their victim from both sides of his neck at the same time. It'd also been a great deal of fun to continue with their lovemaking throughout it all. Contentedly smiling at his pleasant memories, Spike attempted to bring himself back to coming up with the right scheme to make Dru forgive him-

Wait a second, now. There was something which had almost occurred to him in his thoughts a moment ago, but then it'd disappeared like...fog? That was odd. Fog, or...foggy? Yes, that was it! But...what, exactly? Let's see, foggy, foggy or sunny tomorrow, too foggy to see, a...foggy day?

"Oh-_ho!_" Spike chortled, with the entire romantic plan materializing in his mind as a single flash of inspiration. He sprang up from the armchair to bustle over to a writing desk placed across the room. Taking another seat there, Spike reached out for a single sheet of paper and a filled pen at hand. A quick five minutes of scribbling had him putting down the original composition he'd heard often enough on the radio since its first appearance in a Fred Astaire movie last year. Fortunately, he still had a good memory regarding poetry, so Spike was sure he'd gotten the lyrics entirely correct.

Not that he was going to deliver this in its unchanged form to Dru, no, indeed. Spike needed to make it clear he was referring to nobody but him and the lovely lady who would hopefully be soppily reconciled with her Spikey-Wikey after hearing...

After another few minutes of creativeness, a smug Spike viewed what he'd next put down on the paper. Clearing his throat, the vampire skimmed through the several lines of altered verse until he felt ready to begin. In a quite decent baritone, Spike warbled:

"_I was a vampire in the city  
__Out of town were the demons I knew  
__I had that feeling of self-pity  
__What to do? What to do? What to do?  
__The outlook was decidedly blue  
__But as I preyed through the empty streets alone  
____It turned out to be the luckiest night I've known_

_A sunny day in London Town  
__Had me low and had me down  
__I viewed the twilight with alarm  
__Madame Tussauds had lost all its charm  
__How long, I wondered, could this thing last?  
__But the age of wickedness hadn't passed,  
__For, suddenly, I saw you there  
__And through sunny London Town  
__The dark was shading everywhere._"

Giving an approving look at his handiwork laid out on the desk, Spike went over the rest of his amorous strategy. As soon as night fell, he'd be off to where Dru was sure to visit shortly after sunset, their usual private booth at the demon pub near Highgate. Once there, he'd march straight in, paying no attention to anyone or anything (which described virtually all of the other patrons), stop at the table, and sing that altered version of the Gershwin brothers' tune right into Dru's astonished face. There was no possible way she'd do anything else but greet him with open arms after that!

* * *

A couple of hours later, the choking death rattle of Ye Olde Nick's bouncer drifted through the air of the corpse-strewn interior of this demolished tavern. That horrific sound was abruptly interrupted by the loud _crunch!_ of a wrecked radio compacting into a solid suffocating mass while being further shoved down the massive demon's throat. Daintily removing her hand from where it was thrust deeply inside the mouth of the slack, scaled face with its now-glazed eyes, Drusilla the Mad rose up from her kneeling position by this extinct fiend lying limply on the floor.

Skipping over the other demons' bodies piled in her way, this vampiress demurely rejoined her companion at their booth in the front part of the room, which was the sole intact area in the whole destroyed pub. Catching the disapproving glance sent towards her by the little darling sharing their table, Drusilla sighed with real regret.

She then murmured a mild protest, "Now, now, Miss Edith. Mummy had no choice but to firmly reprove all those impolite gentlemen when they refused to turn down the radio during our rendezvous here tonight. Didn't you heed them, how they used the most shocking language about wanting to listen to their favorite song? I'm afraid it put me in quite a fit of pique that I haven't gotten over yet, dear. So, let's hope we won't be disturbed again at our tea for whatever reason. This most definitely includes being interrupted by anyone _or_ hearing once more in any form that dreadful tune called 'A Foggy Day-'"

In the very next second, the pub door was kicked open and Spike arrogantly swaggered inside in the tavern's front without noticing its total ruination further in the back. When the oblivious vampire halted by the table occupied by his startled lover and that damn doll, Spike then started to loudly sing...

* * *

Author's Note: If you're interested, here's the original version of the song (composed by George Gershwin and with lyrics by Ira Gershwin), as introduced by Fred Astaire in the 1937 film _A Damsel in Distress._

_I was a stranger in the city  
__Out of town were the people I knew  
__I had that feeling of self-pity  
__What to do? What to do? What to do?  
__The outlook was decidedly blue  
__But as I walked through the foggy streets alone  
__It turned out to be the luckiest day I've known_

_A foggy day in London Town  
__Had me low and had me down  
__I viewed the morning with alarm  
__The British Museum had lost its charm  
__How long, I wondered, could this thing last?  
__But the age of miracles hadn't passed,  
__For, suddenly, I saw you there  
__And through foggy London Town  
__The sun was shining everywhere. _


	28. August 28, 1941

Summary: Proper Evil Overlord conduct towards heroes' sidekicks: Shoot them at once, then do it again just to make sure. Those helpers backing up the male lead are always a definite nuisance for any villain plotting their despicable deeds.

* * *

Unconsciously anticipating a hit song nearly a decade in the future, Spike mused out loud, "New York, it's a hell of a town."

Leaning against a dock piling holding up the decaying pier warehouse set at the edge of the East River, Spike shook out from its pack the last cigarette there, stuck it into his mouth, and applied a match to the fag's tip. Throughout all this, the vampire taking his ease on the boat landing below the warehouse continued watching with mild interest how that bloke a hundred yards out in the water was slowly swimming into his direction. Blowing out a cloud of smoke, Spike decided at the moment it was even odds as to whether his potential meal for tonight would make it to dry land, or simply drown in the tepid river still capable even in August of draining the body heat of anyone who stayed in it too long.

Removing the cigarette from his lips, Spike glanced around. In the darkness about an hour after sunset, nobody showed themselves among the line of unlit, ramshackle buildings on either side of his location. Neither was anyone within earshot loudly announcing they'd spotted whoever had earlier probably fallen off a boat and were about to come to their rescue.

Spike himself had barely caught sight of the head bobbing in the water out there, when he'd left his current lodgings just moments ago on his way to find someone to eat for the evening. An unhurried stroll down the rickety wooden staircase attached to the dock had him here now on the landing, still waiting for that lazy bugger to arrive in time for a demon's proper breakfast. Sending a considering look at where the swimming man's arms were just barely propelling him along in evident exhaustion, Spike heaved an exasperated sigh.

Several minutes later, this impatience had turned into actual bemusement at seeing exactly who'd just crawled onto the boat landing's planks from the water lapping against this mooring point. Spike mentally noted, *Well, _this_ latest catch won't be tossed back into the drink by me any time soon for being too small!*

He was a big 'un in damn fine shape, no question about it. At least a head taller than Spike, and with almost as many muscles as a sideshow strongman, to boot. These last were easy enough to see, what with the dripping man lying there clad in nothing but his pants. Flicking his cigarette into the water, Spike leaned down over the gasping body in order to give a brisk, hard shake of that stranger's bare shoulder while firmly telling him, "Hullo, mate, get up, will you? I've got a better place where you can rest, but we need to take the stairs first. Shake a leg there, Hercules!"

Those, and other encouraging words, along with a helping hand securely clamped onto the man's lower arm, eventually got the dazed swimmer up to his shoeless feet and then in the process of making a lurching ascent on the staircase. Under their combined weight, that wobbly structure complained in alarming fashion with continuous screeching noises, but Spike and his barefoot companion eventually arrived at the top of the dock. Guiding him into the gloomy interior of the warehouse, Spike then let go of the other man, who hadn't said a single word since getting out of the East River.

Nor did Spike give this stranger a chance to speak at last, since the vampire then viciously struck the back of his victim's neck with a single blow of a clenched fist. As a consequence, the knocked-out receipt of a usually fatal rabbit punch dropped like a stone to the warehouse floor, making the entire building shudder when his bulk landed onto the hard surface there. The only sound after this was the rasping breaths made by the near-naked man lying limply face-down.

Spike raised an eyebrow in his faint surprise at this victim's robustness. He'd meant to kill with that clout, and indeed had done so a good many times before with exactly that same amount of force the blond demon had just used. Oh, well, dead or insensible, either would do fine at present. Now that he was out of sight from any possible witnesses, such as might have noticed Spike down at the boat landing dining on that bloke from the river, it was well past time to satisfy his appetite for some fresh, warm blood!

Just when Spike happily anticipating a most fine dinner shifted his face into its horrific demeanor of a demon's visage, a black streak staying unusually low to the ground barreled through the space where a side warehouse door once existed. Shrieking at ear-splitting levels, this unexpected attacker rushed right at Spike and collided directly at knee level with him, to then shove hard against the vampire taken completely by surprise over the whole thing.

Stumbling backwards, with both arms flailing to keep his balance, Spike now found himself much further back in the warehouse when he skidded to a halt. In his new location, this undead Englishman could no longer see the stranger he'd been about to feed upon, since there was a stack of empty wood crates left behind by the warehouse's previous tenant currently blocking Spike's line of vision.

Spike didn't pay all that much attention to this. He was far more preoccupied with gaping in sheer astonishment at the large animal before him, which was uttering angry hooting squeals, hopping up and down on its feet in evident rage, and making continuous clawing gestures with both hands at Spike. As for the vampire, his surprise abruptly changed into genuine mirth at observing such a funny sight. Guffawing out loud, Spike managed a gleeful, "So where's the organ grinder who just lost his pet monkey, you little perisher?"

That jeer caused the tailless primate crouched in front of Spike to somehow become even more furious. The hairy beast began slapping the palms of its hands onto the warehouse floor which produced loud smacking sounds, followed by baring yellowish teeth at the smirking demon. Now really enjoying himself, Spike further mocked that bloody monkey in crouching down and giving himself a good double-scratch with his fingertips against the sides of his body just under his armpits. The ridicule was topped off by Spike stridently voicing his own sarcastic "Ooo! Ooo! Ooo!"

For whatever reason, that was the very last straw for the beast which a moment ago had been incorrectly named by Spike. With every hair standing out straight from its body in pure wrath, the African ape hurled itself at a waiting vampire totally confident he'd twist off that shaggy head in one go. That absolute certainty lasted right up to the second when Spike was effortlessly yanked down to the ground by one broad hand grabbing his leg, which then further pulled an aghast fiend into closer contact with the other hand, a set of very sharp teeth, and two prehensile feet.

* * *

Supernatural Fact: Any claims by the rare survivors of personal combat with a blood-drinking demon that their unholy opponent had the strength of a dozen men are not very likely to be true, simply because they're still alive to say such things as this assertion. Only master vampires who've been in existence for a century or more are usually at anywhere near this level of strength. Fledgling vampires just arisen from their graves, on the other hand, have been determined to possess no more than twice the strength their bodies retained before they were taken over by a demon. A vampire's physical power clearly increases the longer they exist, so when Spike passed his first half-century of unlife, he was about three times stronger than any human around, even such muscular individuals as weight lifters and the like.

Scientific Fact: The wild claims by a researcher investigating the physical limits of the great apes during the 1920's that these creatures were incredibly found to be _five_ times stronger than humans tested the same way have since been disproved. Much more accurate studies decades later revealed that due to their different muscle tissue and skeletal system, fully-grown simians of the larger species have an impressive enough strength level of twice that of homo sapiens, on the average. The latter quantifying words lead to the prospect that just like individual humans, there's the definite possibility of a wide range of strength levels for individual primates.

And now back to our regularly scheduled programming...

* * *

Triumphantly balancing upon the back of the comatose form of his defeated enemy, the adult Pan paniscus let out at full lungpower the exultant victory yell he'd learned from his master:

"AAAAAAAAAAaaaaaaaaaaAAAAAAAAaaaaaaAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH HH!"

Once this was done, Cheeta performed one last act to show his total dominance over the loser he'd just pummeled into unconsciousness.

Elsewhere in the warehouse, Tarzan of the Apes arising from the floor shook his head to clear away the fuzziness there. That mental disorientation was due to both his throbbing neck from where he'd been punched earlier, and also the ear-ringing howl of triumph coming from somewhere past those boxes close by. Getting fully up on his feet, the Lord of the Jungle felt his usual vigor rapidly return, which was quite a relief. Even his enormous powers of endurance had been greatly taxed by all his recent exertions.

Among these latest actions had been diving off from one of the Brooklyn Bridge's suspension cables to the river over two hundred feet below. Next had come drifting around in the cold water for hours until dark in order to make a successful escape from the pursuing authorities. Incidentally, where was the man who'd hit him? That whole situation was rather peculiar. If it'd been done to capture him, well, it'd worked, but why weren't the city people here now to arrest him?

In the middle of Tarzan's puzzled thoughts, this was interrupted by Cheeta knuckle-walking into view from behind the boxes. Catching sight of his master now appearing to be in good health once more, the chimpanzee who'd frantically tracked down Tarzan grunted in happiness and waved lank arms over his furry head as an amiable greeting.

Peering around in the warehouse, a man born with the name of John Clayton absently nodded back at his animal comrade. Even with Tarzan's keen senses developed by growing up from birth in the African wilds, he couldn't see or hear anyone else but Cheeta around here, so where was that other man? This search was interrupted by the chimp coming over to grasp Tarzan's hand with his own, and then impatiently tug the hero towards the open space where a warehouse door had once been.

Tarzan continued to follow along after Cheeta, with this ape still maintaining their mutual grip all the way. Wondering if this was the right thing to do, go out into the city again while leaving a potential foe behind them, Tarzan performed a deep inhalation through his nose, just to see if he could catch that assailant's scent-

An irked scowl promptly developed upon Tarzan's handsome face at recognizing an all-too-familiar stench. Stepping out from the warehouse, he stared sternly down at the top of Cheeta's skull, only to then give a vast, dismissive shrug. It just didn't matter, what he suspected had just occurred back in the building. There were much more important things to worry about now: finding Jane, rescuing Boy, and then having their small family leave behind this awful city for their beloved African jungle.

The mismatched pair faded into the night to continue Tarzan's New York adventure.

Back in the storage facility, Spike eventually woke up from being unbelievably beaten to a pulp by a soddin' banana-munching beast, to then find himself lying face-down on the splintery warehouse floor just like his previous victim. While glumly waiting to recover from numerous fractured bones, multiple torn muscles, a lot of deep bite wounds, and various other agonizing injuries, the vampire had something else suddenly capture his attention. Giving another cautious sniff, Spike's now-healed broken nose informed the demon that for some reason, he'd now acquired a frankly preposterous pong.

That incredible, eye-watering odor was accompanied by Spike also discovering an unexpected sensation of a sort of damp heaviness lying in the middle of the small of his back. Painfully contorting his least incapacitated arm, Spike managed to clumsily swipe once with his hand whatever was there and beginning to leak through his shirt. It squished under his probing fingers, with some of the substance there sticking to these.

Unfortunately, without even thinking it through in time to prevent what he next did, Spike brought the hand back and around to hold this in front of his face to look and smell at very close range what he'd just touched.

A split second later, the entire warehouse resounded to an incredulous vampire's maddened bellow: "THAT DAMN MONKEY CRAPPED ON ME!"

* * *

Author's Note: In the Buffyverse, things didn't happen exactly as they did in the 1942 MGM movie _Tarzan's New York Adventure_, when Tarzan does his death-defying dive off the Brooklyn Bridge and then goes directly to the circus where Boy is being held by the kidnappers. Instead, our hero has to swim in the river until dark and then meets Spike, with the results of this amusingly presented here.


	29. August 29, 1964

Summary: Barry Ween, Agatha Heterodyne, Heinz Doofenshmirtz and all others of their ilk - none of them could've caused more trouble for Spike than one certain teenage inventor innocently did so during the early '60's.

* * *

"What do you mean, you don't know what it is?"

That incredulous question drew a very wry grimace from the person it'd been directed to, a clean-cut American teenager standing next to another young man about the same age and a slightly shorter but huskier build than his friend. Tom Swift, Jr. then quizzically shrugged his lanky shoulders once before admitting to Bud Barclay, "It's the truth, okay?"

At seeing his best pal's dumbfounded expression, Tom just sighed. "Look, you remember the whole Aquatomic Tracker emergency last week? How I was working twenty-four-hour days in the lab then, with only occasional breaks for eating and sleeping?"

Bud cautiously nodded, which made Tom continue in his own bemused tone, "Well, sometime during then, I basically got off the lab cot I was using for a quick nap, wandered into the electronics section, and just threw the whole thing together. After that, I fell back into bed and woke up sometime later with my big idea already there in my head, which helped me build the tracker."

"Yeah, so?" Bud wanted to know.

Tom rolled his eyes in exasperation at both his clueless chum and the entire annoying situation. "The problem is, I don't think I ever completely woke up at any time when I was assembling it! Not only does that piece of junk there have nothing to do with the tracker, but I can't even remember why I built it in the first place, or what it's supposed to do!" The young inventor pointed with genuine accusation at the small object which was currently the target of his ire.

Continually emitting a cheerful beeping noise, this odd item looked like an oversized steel thermos bottle wrapped in dozens of tiny red electric bulbs stuck at random on all sides of this metal cylinder. These lights were all rhythmically blinking on and off while the object stood with one end embedded in a rectangular base resting upon the laboratory tabletop. The twinkling radiance was reflecting from the floor-to-ceiling windows a few yards away on the western side of the Swift Enterprises facility, where beyond the horizon there the sun had set about an hour ago.

Thinking about what he'd just heard, Bud snickered, "Are you telling me that instead of sleepwalking, you did some sleep-inventing?"

This little bit of teasing caused Tom to glower at Bud, before a grudging "Maybe" came from someone who could claim for his father a world-renowned creator of mechanical and scientific devices. The irritated face borne by this second generation of inventors soon became even grouchier at how Bud went into gales of laughter at Tom's reluctant answer.

Striding ahead with an air of offended dignity, Tom tossed over his shoulder at Bud trailing along and still chortling under his breath, "What's most frustrating is that I can't even take it apart for study, not without risking permanent damage to the thing and making it stop working. All I've found out so far is there's a battery in the bottom and a lot more very strange circuitry inside. Half of it doesn't make any sense, and the rest doesn't seem to do anything in particular."

Halting at the edge of the lab table with Bud again next to him, Tom balefully regarded the little machine which was driving him nuts. He reached out while absently remarking to his friend watching everything with genuine interest, "If you press _this_ button-" (the teenager's forefinger laid itself on the big black electrical switch set on the topmost part of the cylindrical gadget and exerted enough pressure to push it down) "-and hold it in the on position, two things happen. You can see one of them right now."

Indeed, all of the tiny red lights attached to the sides of the canister were now flashing much more quickly and in no particular order. Continuing to look at Bud perplexedly studying for himself this bizarre result, Tom further lectured, "It took me long enough, but I finally investigated if this thing was broadcasting or receiving some sort of signal. Imagine my surprise when-"

"Uh, Tom," interrupted Bud, his mystified expression abruptly changing into actual alarm.

That young scientist was too engrossed in his discourse to pay sufficient attention to this reaction. He kept speaking directly to Bud, "-a rather unexploited frequency of the electromagnetic spectrum, which to be honest doesn't have all that much usefulness-"

Shaking his head mournfully, Bud tried again, this time in a louder tone, "Tom! Before, did you ever hold down the button this long?"

"-and it's only got a range of about a couple of- Uh, no, why?"

Tom broke off to stare in puzzlement at where Bud was ducking under the lab table to grab for the piece of emergency equipment stored under there. At the same time, a vile odor of scorched electrical insulation wafted to Tom's nose, along with his fingertip agonizingly feeling as if he'd just touched it to a lit stove.

Yelping in pain while jumping back, Tom stared with shock at where Bud was briskly spraying a fire extinguisher at the smoldering cylinder. Given how ruined this enigmatic, one-of-a-kind invention appeared right before it was completely hidden under an immense lump of chemical foam, Tom sadly realized (in between blowing hard on a blistered finger) that he was never going to find out exactly what that thing had been meant to do. Not even the just-recalled, if maddeningly vague, memory of experiencing an atypical nightmare around then would be of any help in allowing Tom Swift, Jr. to ever guess the astonishing truth.

* * *

"I'M GOING TO KILL YOU! WHOEVER'S DOING IT, THAT'S A PROMISE FROM NONE OTHER THAN WILLIAM THE BLOODY! JUST LET ME FIND YOU, AND I'LL RIP OFF YOUR DAMN HEAD!"

From where he was standing in the now pitch-black basement, fists clenched and body trembling in sheer rage at his unknown tormentor, Spike glared ahead among the echoes of his roared threats still ringing throughout the vampire's hiding place for the last week. He'd had no choice at all for this hasty concealment, not when for some reason it'd all begun then, forcing Spike to desperately find the most solitary spot he could manage. Next had come the furtive hunts for prey done outside as quickly as possible before scurrying back into the basement and then staying there to wait in honest dread for the next random occurrence of Spike's recent curse.

It couldn't be called anything else, this horrible misfortune that Spike was suffering from at the present. Making it even worse had been the latest example of a few moments ago, in which the dozens of little, sparkling, intangible red lights hovering in the air around Spike's entire body and moving along with him were even brighter than they'd appeared at any time before. Glowing fit to dazzle the entire underground space in crimson radiance, no less!

This definitely couldn't go on much longer, Spike glumly thought, deflating from his previous angry mood. All it'd need to destroy for good his reputation of the most savage vampire around was for the other demon blokes to catch sight of him all lit up like some soddin' Christmas tree. There was also the equally significant problem that he sure as hell couldn't swagger through the dark streets of humanity's cities in search of the nearest delicious neck while dragging along his own personal Blackpool Illuminations.

Going over to the closest corner, Spike curled up on the mattress there and decided to take a good, long nap. Hopefully, by the time he woke up in a couple days or so, it'd be all over and done with, this latest damn bit of bother.

As time slowly passed for the vampire in the basement, this indeed seemed to have occurred, very much to Spike's relief. Eventually, when the lights hadn't re-appeared after a solid week straight, he ventured out back into the night-time world and soon returned to his normal habits of murder and mayhem. Though, every now and then, usually when catching sight of a traffic signal indicating 'STOP', Spike would shudder in actual fear and wander off while looking nervously around at his location.

Through discreet inquiries among the supernatural community, one of the Scourge of Europe found out that no other blood-drinking demon was experiencing the identical circumstances of such a bizarre manifestation. Neither did Spike ever succeed in finding out the exact how or why or who of this annoying, glow-in-the-dark nuisance.

Or to put it another way, an undead Englishman never learned he'd been the closest target during the first activation of a device (should it have actually been set down in written form) which would be best described as _Tom Swift and His Hemophage Locator._

* * *

Author's Note: In case you're curious, the Aquatomic Tracker had to do with Tom needing to create yet another amazing invention to find a missing ship by analyzing its trace elements left behind in the water during this ocean-going vessel's journeys, from what I remember about a boy's adventure novel I first read maybe forty years ago.


	30. August 30, 1999

Summary: For Spike, the most dangerous person he ever met was an eight-year-old boy with NO impulse control, a mayfly's attention span, and being the magical godchild of two fairies who granted this little terror's every wish.

* * *

"Hey, this guy isn't who I wanted!"

Right after being unexpectedly teleported out of his Los Angeles crypt where he'd been lying low for the summer after the whole Sunnydale graduation cockup, Spike the vampire looked around with total disbelief at his new location inside some kiddy's bedroom. However it'd happened, he was now visiting a sort of cartoon dimension. This was easily discerned by everything in sight being done in an animated style with bright lighting, minimal backgrounds, and most of all, a little boy drawn with a massive cowlick who'd just resentfully announced his youthful displeasure.

The two miniature people floating in mid-air at Spike's eye level were a definite clue, too.

One of those hovering beings, with green hair, red-rimmed eyes, and a swollen nose turned to the other airborne midget next to him, and asked her in a croaky, congested voice, "Whud he shay?"

This definite female with deep pink hair and a very irritated expression now on her pretty face snapped in response, "Cosmo, that's it! Your summer cold was bad enough when all it did was to make you feel miserable, but now that it's starting to affect your hearing, I'm going to cure it right away!"

After saying those exasperated words, the little woman suspended above the floor waved the small stick she was holding in one hand into the general direction of the other floating man. The tiny, five-pointed star attached to the top of the stick abruptly glowed pink, and a ray of light in the same color burst from the star to head directly at the buoyant male's head.

Striking him with perfect accuracy onto his forehead, the stream of pale crimson caused this man's entire cranium to then incredibly swell up to three times its former size…and a split second later, a loud _POP!_ noise rang out in the room. This sound was matched by the man's inflated head abruptly returning to its former size, seemingly without any adverse results whatsoever. On the contrary, this person apparently named Cosmo now had a very relieved look on his face.

Cosmo next happily said in a much more comprehensible tone, "Thanks, Wanda! I feel great! Now, let's see why Timmy wished for a vampire-"

"Oh, buggering hell!" Spike groaned out loud, interrupting the emerald-tressed speaker whose extremely powerful magical species had just been recognized by the appalled demon. "This is just bloody wonderful! I'm here with two soddin' fairies and not those blokes who set up house with each other- UMPH!"

This last strange disruption in Spike's bitter complaint was due to another pink magical ray this time being sent his way. That fairy spell caused a massive block of soap to appear from out of thin air in front of the vampire's face. This slab of cleansing material then swiftly moved on its own, where it was rammed deep into Spike's mouth to stay there in place for the next several moments.

Staggering back a step, Spike caught himself at the same moment when the fairy known as Wanda popped into existence just in front of his head, all while holding her wand pointed straight between the undead Englishman's eyes. She hissed into his shocked expression, "Watch your language, idiot! There's a child here!"

Shifting his gaze past the infuriated supernatural sprite, Spike could see how that same child was moving his lips while repeating under his breath the unfamiliar yet fascinating words Timmy had just heard. Switching his attention back to where Wanda was clearly getting ready to teach him some more manners if necessary, Spike frantically nodded his head several times in quick submission.

Looking satisfied, Wanda shot off another pink ray from her wand. This entirely dissolved the soap chunk in Spike's mouth, leaving behind both the nasty taste of what'd just been there and a definite reminder not to piss off that damn fairy.

"WOW! A real vampire!" was then yelled at the top of his lungs by what's-his-name…Timmy, that was it…who was now in front of Spike and eagerly hopping up and down in his excitement. The little boy next stopped short to frown up at the guy gingerly wiping off his tongue with the back of his hand the very last traces of soap which had been there. Judging by the growing expression of suspicious disbelief now upon Timmy's face, this action wasn't exactly how a horror film creature of the night should behave.

In a swift change of mood, Timmy objected, "He doesn't even look like Dracula! Cosmo, change his clothes into what a real vampire wears!"

"Now just a-!" Spike's beginning roar of protest was cut off by a flash of green coming from Cosmo's wand. Glancing down in sudden dread, Spike now saw his casual garments of a t-shirt, jeans, and low boots which he'd been wearing in the crypt had altered into (*oh, the sheer awfulness of it all*) actual evening dress, including the red silk-lined opera cape and a particularly tacky medallion hanging from a chain around Spike's neck.

"Yeah!" a gratified Timmy crowed. He next demanded from a numb Spike, "Change into a bat! That'll be really great!"

Giving the little perisher his most evil glare, Spike snarled, "Even if I wanted to - which I damn well don't - I can't! My sort of vampire doesn't have that knack!"

Thoughtfully nodding, Timmy appealed, "Wanda? Cosmo?"

It was the fairy woman who waved her wand first, all while bearing a deviously stifled smirk on her lips. In a flash of pink light, the floating pair of small, supernatural creatures was promptly joined by another magically-changed being of the Chiropteran order.

However…despite looking exactly like a little black bat with the spiky wings and all the other limited animation accouterments, for some reason Spike didn't also possess the ability to fly which should have come along with this transformation. Moreover, instead of weighing the normal eight ounces or so his current body should now possess, Spike by one way or another in his altered form was still maintaining every bit of his normal hundred and seventy pounds of mass.

It _was_ a cartoon dimension, so naturally gravity paused for a entertaining moment, just long enough for Spike's beady eyes in his furry face to widen in real panic at what was going to occur. Sure enough, in a blur of motion lines, the vampire bat plummeted straight down, out of the audience's view. A quick jump cut to the next scene of the television episode had Timmy, Cosmo, and Wanda all wincing in unison, along with the thunderous _WHAM!_ of an offstage body smashing hard onto the floor.

Of course, it was Timmy's turn then to unsympathetically remark, "Aw, phooey. That's no fun."

A flicker of motion seen through the curtained front window of his bedroom caught the distracted boy's eye. Dashing over there while ignoring how the bat sprawled limply on the room carpet was whimpering to himself, Timmy pulled aside the curtain and he stared out the window.

A very spiteful smile suddenly appeared on Timmy's face when he saw who was passing by on the street sidewalk. Calling over his shoulder, the boy ordered, "Wanda, change him back!"

Now displaying an even more vindictive grin than her young master, the pink-haired fairy casually did as she'd been told, returning Spike to his previous form. This just happened to be standing right in the middle of the beam of sunlight which was now streaming through the exposed window.

"_Yeeeearrrrggghhhh!_"

Timmy nearly jumped out of his skin at that unexpected howl of agony. He spun around to gawk at the mound of ashes now resting on the floor in the center of the bedroom. Again, since this was a cartoon dimension, two blinking eyeballs remained atop the little heap of vampire dust. These same orbs now shot a truly baleful glare upwards at where Wanda was giggling to herself in mid-air.

"What happened?" asked a puzzled Timmy.

"Oh, just this," nonchalantly replied Wanda, doing another flick of her wand that sent her personal ray of magic at the ashes. In an instant, Spike was once more solid and in one piece.

And he was still standing in the same beam of sunlight.

"_Yeeeearrrrggghhhh!_"

"Cool!" marveled Timmy at how the vampire had promptly disintegrated into a handful of powder after that repeated scream. He shook his head regretfully before saying, "We can't have him doing that when we go outside. Cosmo, whip up something to take care of it!"

"Nooooo problem," crooned Cosmo, who had a familiar maniacal gleam showing in his green eyes. With a wave of his wand, there now appeared in the room a fifty-five gallon steel drum filled to the brim with what was lettered on the sides of this as 'SPF 10 Million Lotion!'

Another magical gesture had an enormous paintbrush pop up from the surface of the gelatinous liquid, apparently capable of lathering up the most densely-packed seashore with a single swipe onto every beachgoer there.

A couple of seconds later in another jump cut, a dripping-wet Spike back into his usual shape (and still wearing that idiotic Hollywood vampire outfit) was sullenly spitting out what kept trickling into his mouth. His mood wasn't improved the slightest by Timmy now telling him and the two fairies, "I saw my babysitter Vicky outside now. She'll soon be at the alley at the end of the block. I want him-" (the little boy pointed at Spike completely covered in sunscreen lotion and glowering at them all) "-to hide there until she shows up, and then jump out and give her the worse scare she's ever had in a her whole life! Okay, Wanda, turn the rest of us invisible so we can watch all the fun. Cosmo, take us there now!"

After several flashes of magical light, Timmy Turner's bedroom now became empty of its former inhabitants, right before the screen went dark.

To anyone watching the episode, the following white block letters then materialized: 15 MINUTES AFTERWARDS…

Again, the main characters were present in Timmy's room. The young hero himself was wearing an expression of genuine awe upon his face, Wanda and Cosmo were clinging to each other while whooping with tearful laughter, and Spike the vampire-

On second thought, this blond demon lying on his back in Timmy's bed should now be referred to as 'Spike the mummy.' From head to toe, he was wrapped in white bandages, which also covered the medical splints necessary to keep broken bones straight. All four arms and legs were held in place by these splints, and from between the strips of fabric laid horizontally across the vampire's face, two glittering eyes viewed the other three persons in the room.

In a very flat voice, albeit somewhat muffled, Spike slurred through his shattered jaw, "Congratulations, you lot. Somehow, you managed to find the only Slayer in this whole dimension, who didn't even know what she was until I showed up and then that damn girl proceeded to beat the snot out of me!"

That ensued even more hysterical glee from the two fairies, until Cosmo glanced at the bedside clock and managed to gasp out, "Timmy, it's almost time for your game! You need to get ready!"

At those final words, the green-haired sprite used his wand to magic into the room another person. This was a stern, mature man dressed in what still struck a sulking Spike as a very unusual costume of black shoes, dark pants, blue short-sleeved shirt, some sort of chest protector, and a full face-mask of curving steel wires. Another wave of Cosmo's wand changed Timmy's own clothes into a set of athletic garments, including spiked shoes, a leather glove, and a close-fitting cap with a visor.

Looking down in approval at his new attire, Timmy announced, "Okay, guys, take us to a block from the game. I want-"

"Wait!" Wanda anxiously interrupted. She nodded at Spike in the bed, "What should we do about him?"

"Uh, I'm not sure…," uncertainly trailed off Timmy, before he shrugged in his hurry. "Wanda, just send him back where he came from, all fixed up. You can find us when you're done. Cosmo, let's go!"

In another magical flash, the boy, the stranger, and the male fairy disappeared from the room. This left behind Spike helpless in the bed and a truly potent magic-wielder drifting over to hover just above the vampire. A distinctly hostile look was now upon Wanda's face.

Not feeling all too confident at the moment, Spike sensibly held his tongue, which meant Wanda spoke first, "Oh, relax, you disgusting thing. The enchantments which allow us to grant our godchildren their wishes means we've got to obey Timmy, so if he says so, you'll return safe and sound to your original dimension. Me, I'd teleport you to the surface of the sun, if I had my way."

An irritated flick of her wand had Spike's bandages and splints disappear, accompanied by the vampire's body totally healing in an instant. Warily getting up and off from the bed while keeping an eye on the little scrubber glaring back at him, Spike at last asked the question which had been nagging at him for all of his recent visit to this soddin' cartoon world, "Why the hell was I brought here, anyway?"

Wanda wryly grimaced, before she huffed, "The short version is, Timmy's Little League team has lost all their games the whole summer, mostly because he's a really bad player. Today's the last game, and if they lose that too because of him, he won't be invited back to play next year. So our godchild came up with a scheme to have the main official in charge there magically under his control so that whatever happened, his team would win. Unfortunately, because of Cosmo's head cold, my husband didn't hear correctly who Timmy wanted, so _you_ got collected instead."

Spike stared blankly at the rueful fairy, with this unliving Londoner failing to understand long enough for Wanda to finally inform him in her absolute vexation, "Instead of a British vampire, you were supposed to be the baseball _umpire!_"

The blood-drinking demon dazedly mulling over that little piece of news almost missed the malevolent gaze then sent his way, along with the pink beam of light which transported Spike back to his home dimension. The instant he appeared outside his Los Angeles crypt, this vampire worriedly glanced down at his body, fearing a last-minute punishment of some sort for being such a nasty piece of work around dear, sweet Timmy.

But…he was dressed again in his original clothes, the same ones he'd been wearing before taking that stupid trip to the cartoon world. Giving a cautious glance around at the nearby tombstones, Spike eventually relaxed. Nothing looked out of place, except for the shifted moon above indicating he'd been gone for maybe an hour or so, which matched the time he'd been with those animated nutters. All right, maybe he was being a wee bit paranoid-

"Blondie bear!"

Spike both recoiled and whirled around in the same frantic motion at that unanticipated caroling voice coming from the interior of his crypt. Now facing the ajar door of this vampire's hiding place, Spike surprisingly relaxed to then send into that direction a very irritated look. It appeared the dimwit from Sunnydale, who'd died and gotten turned in all the confusion of a mayor's wrecked scheme to become an Olikivan demon, was back again to plague Spike.

Somehow after graduation, a fledgling once known to her fellow Cordettes as Harmony Kendall had hooked up with Spike, even going as far as accompanying the older vampire on his getaway from the Hellmouth to here. Ever since then, Spike kept asking himself just why he tolerated having her around. She was a decent shag, true, but basically that young demoness had all the brains of an oyster.

Well, the only reasonable answer for not kicking her out into the sunshine right away simply for a bit of a giggle while she burst into flames was that Spike had a vague notion of using the bint's knowledge about the Slayer and her damn friends for when he returned to Sunnydale. There was also the possibility of setting up Harmony as bait in some kind of trap for the Scoobies. In the meantime, Spike was forced to put up with her ceaseless nattering and the occasional mind-boggling attempts to make their crypt actually homey. At least Harmony had been away for the earlier part of tonight, giving Spike some peace and quiet-

"Oh, you're such a naughty boy! I'm all dressed up now in what you left out for me to wear for our fun and games, so here I come, ready or not!"

What the hell was she blathering about? He damn well hadn't given her any new clothes, that was for certain. Spike squinted in genuine confusion at the crypt entrance, until Harmony skipped outside into the moonlight, bringing with her all the revealed details of her life-size fairy costume more than visible to him.

Two seconds later, a startled Harmony stared at where Spike was speedily disappearing towards the cemetery's property line. The male vampire's flat-out departing sprint left behind his horrified scream made by Spike only now just realizing how a little boy's casual words of 'all fixed up' could be mischievously interpreted by a fairly oddparent.

Pouting down at her wonderful glittering dress with its attached fake fairy wings, Harmony crankily waved her star-tipped wand at a now-vanished Spike's general direction while adjusting with her other hand the tiara set in her pink wig, finishing it all in a grumbled, "If that's his idea of foreplay, he better come back with the biggest ever bunch of flowers!"


	31. August 31, 1880

Summary: Over many years, a certain vampire became hilariously involved in a good many preposterous (and painful) events during the month of August. Believe it or not, there's an actual reason as to why things like these keep happening to Spike.

* * *

Following the faint sounds of sobbing, Drusilla eventually drifted towards a side lane where she found there the young man who'd encountered her, Angelus, and Darla a mere few minutes ago back at the foggy London docks. After bumping into the trio of vampires who'd just disembarked from their ship, this distracted gentleman with actual tears in his eyes had then rushed away, all while showing off clear signs he was preoccupied with nothing but his own troubles. The impolite pedestrian's misfortunes were now about to get even worse, considering how Darla had then spitefully recommended to her grandchilde that Drusilla turn this idiotic youngster into the insane demon's own personal pet.

A rare expression of shared astonishment had crossed the faces of the two older vampires when Drusilla placidly nodded in instant compliance to this vindictive proposal. Next, the would-be nun strolled off by herself in languid pursuit of tonight's latest prey.

Gaping after Drusilla's departing back, Angelus soon glanced at Darla at his side also staring in puzzlement towards the youngest of their trio already well away from the remaining demons. His sire met the undead Irishman's gaze, to then give a bemused shrug of her shoulders before Darla dryly commented, "It appears our small group will soon increase, dear Angelus. Perhaps when Drusilla rejoins us with her latest toy, we'll get a reasonably coherent explanation as to why she did this."

A very displeased Angelus grumbled, "I never thought she'd really act upon your suggestion! If she does it anyway, that little shite who was here better learn his place among us very quickly. I don't think he'll be worth it, honestly. You saw him yourself; just another brainless human fool frightened of his own shadow. Just what kind of demon is he going to be anyway, acting so cravenly like that?"

Darla promptly put on her lips a malicious little smirk at seeing the perfect chance to further tweak Angelus' irritation. "Why, darling, this should instead be a delightful cause for celebration, especially for you. However it turns out, the main thing is that in a little while you'll be a proud grandpapa, and it only took _you_ no more than a meager hundred and fifty-three years for this!"

The sudden scowl of appalled fury appearing upon Angelus' visage caused Darla to break into gleeful laughter. This unholy mirth continued even when Angelus roughly grabbed Darla's arm and yanked her along as he stomped down the London road.

Several blocks away, Drusilla stood by the mouth of the side lane, watching with growing curiosity at how the disconsolate young man she'd surreptitiously hunted after was pacing back and forth between the two brick walls of the narrow passageway. His back turned to her throughout it all, this well-dressed fellow was giving an incensed thump with a gloved fist to whatever wall he came near in his constant strides to and fro. During the latest example of such an odd action, a closely-observing Drusilla caught a glimpse of his tear-stained face.

Tilting her head slightly to the side to listen to something which none but she could take heed, Drusilla heard the stars singing to her, that this was the one she'd been searching for ages. The imaginary music wafting through the damaged mind of the mad vampiress capable of mentally scanning through time swelled in triumph...only to be undercut by a most bizarre buzzing noise.

Drusilla's entire body flinched in genuine astonishment at something she'd never experienced before, and wouldn't do so again until nearly a century afterwards in the real world. At that future occasion, the undead woman was serenaded then by a record playing the song "Lovely Rita", from the album _Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band_ by the Beatles featuring for side-splitting comedic effect the humble musical instrument known as the kazoo.

Except over eight decades earlier, a near-deafened Drusilla got this foreknowledge at maximum volume from a thousand illusory kazoos played at full blast-

"Are you all right, miss?"

That alarmed query brought Drusilla's attention back from where she'd been staring blankly ahead over the shoulder of the flustered young man a few feet away apprehensively gazing in turn at her. The woman in white blinked at this show of concern so rare in her unlife, but she then collected herself sufficiently to give a haughty nod indicating her polite appreciation of this courtesy.

Opening her mouth to further express her thanks, Drusilla instead then said, "We're sorry to bother you at such a time like this, Mrs. Twice. We would have come earlier, but your husband wasn't dead yet."

There was a sudden pause in the lane as the two individuals there took an incredulous opportunity to consider together what one of them had just let escape from between her lips. Even Drusilla, who was habitually used to saying whatever crossed her fractured mind, couldn't help but wonder where _that_ had come from tonight. She actually tried to squint down at her mouth which lately produced such an odd comment.

As for the other person there, he was giving his newfound companion a definitely baffled look. This soon changed into actual wariness, especially at seeing how the lady over there was engaged now in contorting her beautiful face in such a way to push out her chin while futilely shifting her head back and forth catch sight of that normally unnoticed body part.

An uncomfortable realization then struck William, as the young man in the side lane was known to his mother and what few friends he had, which wasn't all that many. This unusual woman just a step away and now tugging into view her lower lip with two pinched fingers to give this a downwards mistrustful glance must unfortunately be some poor deranged soul on the loose from her guardians. Casting a worried stare around at their vicinity, William couldn't find anyone who might be looking for this escaped lunatic with the most remarkable eyes-

Those same eyes were now gazing right into William's own orbs from a mere few inches. They seemed to be getting bigger and bigger, so much that he was drowning in them. A sympathetic feminine voice began to croon, "Oh, so, so sad! I sense the work of some spiteful lass who cruelly spurned your feelings… Speak, I command you!"

A transfixed William couldn't do anything else. He stuttered, "Her…her name was Cecily. I thought we would be together forever-"

"It's the same old story. Boy finds girl, boy loses girl, girl finds boy, boy forgets girl, boy remembers girl, girl dies in a tragic blimp accident over the Orange Bowl on New Year's Day."

Not even the most expert hypnotic compulsion stood a chance against that.

Abruptly shocked by sheer disbelief over what he'd heard to then be once more in possession of most of his wits, William now weakly reacted "…_what?!_"

Standing close enough so that he should have felt her warm breath against his face, the woman right next to William was herself looking truly disconcerted over what she'd just uttered. This swiftly changed into real suspicion directed towards the young gentleman, leading to her grabbing his chin by fingers much stronger than he'd have ever guessed to then hold him stock-still while she intimately peered at her latest victim, nearly nose to nose with the callow youth.

In a no-nonsense tone far different from her recent coaxing, Drusilla snapped, "There's got to be more! Remember everything, you little brat! Somebody's sneaking into my thoughts, and only Miss Edith has permission to visit at any time for tea and biscuits! Tell me what you know, all of it!"

The side lane became quiet once again, with two people pressed up close to each other. Soon enough, a man's voice whispered, "Mummy wanted to cheer me up…she took me to the opera tonight…"

"Oh yes, my dear. The opera is astonishing. The music is fraught with love, hate, sensuality, and unbridled passion…all the things in my life that I've managed to suppress- _Eeeeeee!_ Hold on, that was close! Go back there, and concentrate!"

After going from shocked fury to an intent riffling through this young twit's memories in less than a split second after saying yet again another unexpected comment, Drusilla was sure now she'd find the meddler giving her so much trouble. Using a seer's skills, the vampires went deeper and deeper into William's mind. Until, without any warning at all, a startled Drusilla felt her spirit materialize inside a surprising scene much more different than this peaceful side lane.

* * *

At a private opera box, the two spectators having reserved this spot for tonight now sat in mutual shock due to the current intruder among their company, who'd just angrily stormed into their presence. William didn't dare to take his gaze away to see how Mummy was bearing up under such a discourteous imposition. How had things ever come to this? Just a moment ago, he'd been trying to get over the rejection of his marriage proposal to Cecily by reciting several of his latest works for the only woman who truly understood him.

Now, William shrank back in his seat from the imperious finger pointed at him. That digit belonged to a very irate foreign aristocrat dressed in the most formal of clothing who now cuttingly lectured him in a thick Balkans accent, "In my adjacent box, I had to listen to that utter drivel you attempted to pass off as poetry until I couldn't take it anymore! As punishment for my suffering, you deserve nothing less than the family curse of the Pârâu-Tepes, which will repeat itself every anniversary of this month for as long as the world shall exist! No matter where you go or what you may do during the Augusts to come, your existence shall be arbitrarily afflicted at least once then with the most absurd, excruciating, and ludicrous experiences possible, all of them matching your horrible attempts at verse!"

With those last words, the stranger to England proudly drew himself up with his mature (yet somehow silly) features utterly serious, cast a cold eye at where an intangible Drusilla was watching, and sneered into her direction, "That goes for the ghost over there too, you impolite eavesdropper!"

With a most regal wave of his hand, the door to the opera box swung open on its own, and the white-haired aristocrat swept out of there, his de rigueur cape dramatically fluttering after him. A second later, again without anyone touching this, the door slammed shut…onto the edge of the cloak. Outside in the corridor, there came a dreadful ripping sound, the heavy thud of a yanked-back body landing painfully upon their ass onto the floor, and a final resigned, "Oh, futu-i."

* * *

Drusilla dazedly shook a whirling head, to next find herself out of the mental scene which she'd witnessed of the bizarre confrontation at the opera just hours ago. She stared around at the London side lane where the vampiress had now regained her senses (or at least as far as the madwoman could ever do so). Her attention was then caught by the youth she'd impulsively decided to sire tonight, who was himself gazing blankly ahead. A dubious Drusilla regarded this still-mesmerized boy for a few moments.

That had been most...peculiar. Perhaps she should mention this to Mummy and Daddy when they met each other later on-

Oh.

The vampiress closed her eyes and began to sway in place, listening closely to what the stars were now singing in her head. They were counseling nothing less than absolute silence over the events of the last few minutes, that what she and William had just undergone together was given for none else to ever know. Well, aside from Miss Edith, of course. This absolute darling quite enjoyed keeping secrets, bless her dear little heart.

Drusilla, however, was instructed by her inner voices to let all the memories of the last few minutes eventually slip away into total forgetfulness. She'd obey, naturally. As for sweet, sweet William - it wouldn't be all that difficult to do a little tampering with his own recollections so that he would later on remember tonight's experience as entirely different from how Drusilla actually turned him into one of their small family. For some odd reason, the stars were remarkably insistent that things be done exactly that way.

Forgetting herself just this once, Drusilla gave into her sudden curiosity and she meekly begged for a reason from the ordinarily aloof overseers of destinies, all having to do with "Why?"

A few seconds later after receiving an actual answer, the vampiress delightedly giggled like the young girl she'd once been a long time ago. Who would ever guess that the stars above liked the occasional bit of low humour and farce? From the impressions she was getting, this lad about to have her teeth sunk deep into his throat was indeed going to provide a great deal of entertainment for the Fates during his next stage of existence as a blood-drinking monster.

Her beautiful face alight with genuine amusement, Drusilla bestowed a dazzling smile upon the unaware William. It was really far preferable for him that he'd never know about his new career as the universe's occasional target of supremely mirthful humiliations.

Well, best be getting on with it, Drusilla mentally smirked. She blinked in additional pleasure at what'd just been introduced into her head. Oh, yes, _that_ was decidedly fitting. Shifting into her demon visage, Drusilla stepped towards William-the-human-for-the-next-two-minutes, all while intoning the proper words for this exact occasion.

Through the darkness of the side alley, a classic comedy phrase from the future drifted out into the late 19th century London air: "This is Frank Drebin, Police Squad. Throw down your guns, and come on out with your hands up. Or come on out, then throw down your guns, whichever way you wanna do it. Just remember the two key elements here: one, guns to be thrown down; two, come on out!"

* * *

Author's Note: The crossovers and quoted dialogue are from the following film and television media: _Police Squad, The Naked Gun _(various), and _Dracula: Dead And Loving It._

Leslie Nielsen, we all miss you. Good luck with your latest gig, cracking up God.


End file.
